Under the Blood Moon Fate Comes for Him
by Moonshayde
Summary: When a hunt to protect one of the seals goes wrong, Sam awakens to find he's a hot-shot lawyer and Dean is a mechanic. Now, he must figure out what went wrong, and get back to his old life even if it means sacrificing the ones he loves. Season 4.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments.

Author's Notes: Takes place after _On the Head of a Pin_.

* * *

Chapter 1

Sam skidded to a halt in front of the antique shop's basement window. He already had the majority of the windowsill salted when he heard Dean slam the door behind them. Growls of disapproval erupted from Dean's mouth, each curse and insult building on the last as he pushed hard against the door and salted the floor. Sam knew Dean blamed him – or more precisely Ruby – for the bad intel they'd received, but he didn't have time to dwell on Dean's sorely misplaced temper tantrum.

The demons were closing in on them. They were running out of time.

Sam grabbed his spray paint bottle, shook it, and started a hasty circle on the floor under the window, holding his breath as he honed his sense to any movement, any little noise. He glanced up and frowned, noticing another window partially obscured by a stack of moldy boxes. He was about to sprint toward it when Dean knocked him out of the way, charging to it first. The hard look on his face told Sam enough.

"Don't," Sam warned. "Don't go there."

"Just find the damn thing," Dean muttered.

And that was all he had a chance to say. Before Sam could even reply, there was a burst of shattered glass and Dean flew back, flipped through the air like a rag doll. He hit the ground with a loud crunch, bypassing an aging armoire, and smashed into a pile of now broken china sets, taking an antique mirror with him.

Sam didn't have time to check if Dean was okay. He kept his gaze focused on the now advancing demon, moving to position himself between it and his brother.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Where is it?"

"Oh, it's here," said the demon, his curled mouth twitching. "I'm surprised you haven't found it yet. I'd heard such impressive things about you."

"Shut the hell up," came Dean's voice.

Sam heard him try to push out of the boxes, and while he was relieved Dean was all right, he couldn't just stop to help his brother. Something wasn't right with this whole scenario. The demon hadn't made a move. The rest of the demons who had pursued them into the basement hadn't come knocking. Something was wrong and it was unnerving him.

His gaze flickered left and right. Ruby had warned him that one of Lilith's minions was closing in on another one of the seals and that the object was hidden somewhere on the south side of Boston, but she couldn't give anything more specific than that. He wouldn't know what "it" was, even if "it" was right in front of him.

The demon cocked his head. "Are we just going to stand here all day? Or are you going to make a move?"

Sam swallowed hard. "You know what I can do."

"So I've heard," he said. "Call me a nonbeliever."

"Oh, you'll be a believer when I'm through with you," Sam said.

"Sam, don't you do it, I swear to God…"

The demon raised his eyebrow. "You always let your brother tell you what to do?"

Sam set his jaw and raised his hand.

Dean didn't hesitate. He flew past Sam, Ruby's knife in hand, and went for the jugular. But the demon just laughed as he jumped away and pushed back with an invisible hand. Dean had little time to react and stumbled, dazed by the blow. Unyielding in his resolve, he blindly thrust at the demon again. This time, the demon drew a knife of his own and before Sam could fully process what was happening, it was over.

The demon slashed the knife across Dean's leg, deep and wide. Blood sprayed hard, splattering across the mirrors, teacups, and other old trinkets lying around the room. Dean hit the floor.

The blood was gushing everywhere. Sam knew the demon had hit an artery, and they had little time before Dean bled out. Feeling his own blood boil, Sam lifted his hand again and stared the demon down.

"Don't do it," Dean warned him. His voice was laced with pain, his hands shaking as he struggled to stop the blood flow. "Don't."

But Dean's words were lost on him. Sam called on his reserve energy and pressed outward. There was that tingle, that energizing ripple that he'd grown to know, and it extended out of him naturally, comfortably. This demon would have to crawl his way out of Hell to hurt another person again.

He saw the demon start to jerk and knew his end was near, but that was when it went wrong.

There was a piercing cry that tore through the air, shaking the room from floor to ceiling. Sam felt hot and fuzzy, a thick cloud forming in his head. He stumbled back, unable to fight off the white noise that was eating away at the dark room. While he grabbed one of the mirrors for support, it wasn't enough to keep him upright. Sam gritted his teeth and fell to his knees.

And then everything – the demon, Dean, and the room itself vanished into an empty white haze.

* * * *

Sam's eyes snapped open.

He didn't have time to think. He pushed the fog from his mind and bolted upright, thrusting out his hand to finish the job.

Sam froze.

This wasn't the antique store.

He found himself sitting on a king-sized bed in a spacious room with soft, padded carpeting. On one side of the bed, he found a small nightstand with a single modern styled lamp, while the opposite side held a large window that stretched the length of the wall, covered with satin lined blinds. He could even see hints of a master bath, the door slightly ajar, from across the room.

There was no sign of Dean or the demon. There was no indication that any antiques had been remotely close to this room.

Sam had no idea where he was or how he got there.

He fumbled for his jacket pockets only to realize he was wearing a t-shirt and sweats. As he scanned the room again, he found no sign of his clothes or anything that would connect him to the store. Sam was a little unnerved that he had no recollection of getting to this place or that someone may have undressed him, but he chose not to dwell on it. He needed to get out of here and make it back to the antique store.

Quietly, Sam rose to his feet and started to take a more detailed inventory of the bedroom. From what he could tell, it seemed like a normal room, nothing supernatural or odd about anything inside. The place felt lived in, but barely so. In fact, Sam sensed a newness to the place.

He just didn't understand why he was here. He felt like he had been plucked right out of thin air and dropped into the room. Sam held onto the hope that if someone had taken the time to dump him in a polished apartment, then they would have had the courtesy to get Dean some immediate medical care. Maybe whoever had brought him here had helped Dean as well.

The demon troubled him. Sam knew he hadn't finished the exorcism. Therefore, the demon was still out there. It obviously knew what the seal was and with Sam out of the picture, it would have had free access to anything in the shop.

Sam needed to figure out where he was.

He gently tapped at the bathroom and peered inside. Empty.

Next, Sam crossed the bedroom and glanced out into the rest of the apartment. The living room was huge. The décor was simple and open, with a flash of elegant restraint, but not lacking in finesse. Sam noticed the state-of-the-art entertainment center on display against the wall above a fireplace. Again, the outer walls were glass, but without the cover of blinds, they showcased a breathtaking view of the cityscape.

Sam studied the skyscrapers. He was still in Boston. Getting to the antique shop shouldn't be difficult, he realized with some relief.

He scanned the rest of the living room, bypassing the full living room set, the glass vases, and the sharp furniture. From where he stood, he saw hints of a dining room and kitchen, but more importantly, he noticed a closed off room to his right.

Without a sound, Sam crept across the hard wood floor in his socks and grabbed the doorknob. He gave it a quiet, careful tug and poked his head inside the darkened room.

"Dean?"

He called out for his brother in a soft, tentative voice, still uneasy to make his presence overtly known in the strange place. He had no weapons, no means of defense other than his own physical strength. If he needed to get the jump on someone, he didn't want to ruin the element of surprise.

But as the minutes ticked on, his sense of anxiety over the place began to wane as a feeling of comfort and familiarity hit him. He couldn't discern any sense of foreboding from anywhere in the apartment. There was only quiet confusion.

"Dean?" Sam called again.

He slipped inside the room and flipped on the light. To his surprise, he had entered a large study, filled with bookcases, which in turn were packed with tomes upon tomes of texts both old and new. A sturdy desk stood in the back center of the room, topped with a tasteful smattering of items and a laptop. But unlike the other rooms the study was dark and windowless. There was still no sign of his brother.

His gaze fell to the edge of his desk.

His cell.

Sam grabbed the cell phone and immediately dialed Dean's number. Only, the phone refused to connect.

Sam swore and shoved the cell phone into his pocket. He scanned the room again and found a cordless phone near the computer. That one would work, he told himself, as he proceeded to manually dial Dean's cell number. He tried not to think of all the different alternatives as the phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

"Hello?"

Sam frowned. He didn't recognize the voice. "Dean?"

"Sorry, got the wrong number."

The line disconnected. Sam wasn't about to let that stop him. He knew he had the right number. Once again, he dialed and once again he was shot down.

Frustrated, Sam tossed the phone on the desk and pressed his fist to his mouth. He felt the anger boiling just beneath the surface of his skin, but he knew he had to remain focused. As much as he didn't want to consider them, Sam knew what he was looking at were several scenarios: he could be delirious or dreaming; he could have been moved by someone after he had lost consciousness; or he could be experiencing something demonic or the result of spell work.

Whatever the scenario, he knew that chances were the demon had broken the seal or was on the verge of doing so. He also knew that if Dean hadn't received medical attention by now, he would be dead.

But sitting here pondering the possibilities would get him nowhere. He needed to figure out where he had been taken and quickly double back to the antique shop.

Sam started to flip through some random paperwork on the desk, searching for an address, when he heard a soft click. He tensed and crept to the study's exit, holding his breath as he listened to the gentle rustle of clothing in the next room. Sam pressed himself against the wall and waited.

"Mr. Winchester?"

He frowned. It was a woman's voice, a woman who clearly knew his last name, but whom he didn't recognize. He reconsidered pouncing the stranger and slid further away from the door to listen.

He heard her come closer. "Mr. Winchester? Are you awake now?"

Sam held his breath, hoping that she might miss him. But the woman, pretty and middle-aged, stopped in the doorway to peer into the room, jumping when she saw him. She took a deep breath and held her shaking hand to her chest.

"Oh, Mr. Winchester." She laughed and shook her head. "You scared me."

Sam stared at her. He filed through every memory he could, trying to place her face, but nothing clicked. He had no idea who she was.

The woman sighed. "Already working. One day you're going to burn out, you know."

He glanced back at the desk. He started to find an uncomfortable but recognizable pattern to the items located on the surface.

Sam turned back to the woman. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

This prompted the woman to roll her eyes. "Always a tease. Tsk." She shook her head. "You _did_ have a tough night last night, didn't you?" As he went to speak she held up her hand. "None of my business, I know. We'll have to see if those blood stains come out or not."

"You took my clothes?" Sam asked.

She laughed again and, to his surprise, patted his arm. "Such a tease."

He watched her step out of the study. The woman went back to straightening out the living room, humming as she went, before she grabbed a stack of fresh towels and headed to a second bathroom.

Sam followed her.

The woman didn't even turn her head as she worked. "Mr. Winchester, you may pay me well, but there will never be enough money to get me on board with your little mind games." She stacked the towels in the closet and turned to face him. "So whatever's on your mind, you should ask it while I'm still on my coffee buzz."

He didn't quite believe what he was hearing. He had hired help – apparently his hired help – working in what was likely his apartment.

None of which was possible.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Sam pushed the thoughts aside. "Did you pick up anyone else?" he asked. "One might have had dark eyes and the other would have had a gash on his leg."

She stared at him. "Picked up? Honey, you drank way too much last night. Are you getting into those bar fight crowds these days?"

He frowned and shifted his weight, trying to bite back his impatience. "No, no. My brother. One of them would have been my brother."

"Your brother?" She gave him an odd look and then shook her head. "No one but you. I found you passed out in the study, all bloodied up and trashed. And do I hear a, "'Thank you, Maddie'?" She arched her eyebrows.

He had never been in the antique shop? As Sam tried to make sense of that piece of information, he realized Maddie was still staring at him. He let out a nervous chuckle. "Thank you, Maddie."

She nodded. "Better. But I'll be honest with you," she said as she wiped the bathroom sink. "I never liked that mirror. It wasn't right."

"Mirror?" His face darkened. "What mirror?"

"Calm down," she said. "I'm sure Archie took that thing out this morning. Awful thing. I'm glad you decided to sell it."

Sam tried to envision the mirrors from the antique shop in his mind's eye. There had been so many different trinkets and old furniture that he couldn't be certain what might have been important and what might have been junk. At least he was certain of one thing – this connection was not a coincidence.

"Did I keep any invoices of this mirror?"

She shrugged. "I don't touch your paperwork."

"Thanks, Maddie. I appreciate it."

He didn't bother to hear her response. Sam hurried back to the study and threw himself into the leather chair in back of the desk. He knew the mirror was key. He just wasn't sure what it had done. Whatever he was experiencing wasn't the work of Djinn. This was something else.

Sam concentrated on the timeline in his head. After Ruby had warned him of the seal, he and Dean had headed to Boston to get to Gibaldi's Antiques. The demons had followed them there and his exorcism had gone wrong somehow. He recalled several mirrors in the basement, but he was struggling to visualize any special one. After the hot white, he apparently had ended up here. Maddie insisted he had been here the entire night. That would have meant no antique shop, no demon, no Dean. That didn't make sense.

He knew he could be dreaming, but at this point, he hoped that wasn't the case. God knew what the demon could be doing to himself, Dean, or any unfortunate soul if he was somehow trapped in a trance.

The mirror could have changed time. It could have sent him to an alternate world. It could have done any number of things, depending on the spell work.

Sam needed to find that mirror and make sure nothing else had been damaged. He needed to make sure the seal was still intact and find Dean.

He filtered through the stray paperwork on the top of the desk, but didn't find anything of interest. One note was a reminder of some party on Saturday night, while two of the other papers dealt with a building somewhere downtown. When he tried to start the computer, the password protected prompt popped on the screen.

Sam would save that for later. He had to have some other information lying around somewhere.

He saw a telephone book resting near the printer. He grabbed the phonebook and, after a quick scan, found Gibaldi's number. Sam wasted no time dialing.

"Yes, hi. My name is Sam and I'm calling from The Antiquers' Association. My colleagues and I had planned to come down for an interview this afternoon, but I had heard some rumors that there has been a recent break-in. I was just calling to establish if we could still come by today."

The man snorted. "Break-in? There's been nothing going on here."

"Really?" He frowned, noticing two different photos on the desk. "No one broke into your business late last night or early this morning?"

"No, I was here all night." He paused. "Who'd you say you were again?"

"From the Antiquers' Association," Sam said. "We'll see you later." He put the phone down and grabbed one of the photos.

It looked like an older photo, but the face was unmistakable. Jess smiled one of her stunning smiles as she snuggled up with a younger version of himself.

Sam bit back the pain and quietly placed the photo where it was. There was a part of him who was dying to know more about her, if she was here, if she was alive in whatever fantasy he was trapped in, but the other part of him couldn't go there, refused to go there, and shut the ache out.

He picked up the other picture. This one was more recent, but equally as painful. He stood tall and proud, holding a framed piece of paper. His dad stood beside him, just as proud, while his mom was on the other side of his dad. She looked as if she'd been crying. Dean stood by their mom, hands in his pockets, struggling to appear subdued, but failing miserably at it. He looked just as full of pride.

Sam glanced behind the desk and found the same piece of paper hanging on the wall. He stared at the law degree.

"I'm a lawyer."

The idea no longer seemed appealing to him. It hadn't for quite some time. At least Sam knew he could definitively rule out a Djinn at work.

Sam returned his attention back to the desk. He still couldn't rule out some kind of dream world, or a time change, or something else. Whatever it was, he knew it couldn't be good. The demon was behind this somehow which meant Sam didn't belong here, whatever here was.

Deciding to take a page from Dean's book, he grabbed a paperclip out of the desk organizer, unwound it, and started to jimmy the locks on the desk. He didn't have time to play detective work on where he would have hidden the key.

After a few unsuccessful attempts, he heard the lock snap. Sam yanked the top drawer open and started to flip through the inside. Mostly, he found just extra supplies, pens and pencils, and some new pads of paper. He grabbed one of the tablets and threw it on the desk for later use.

Next, he tried the locked side drawers. Sam realized every single drawer had a lock, and while he found that curious, he didn't ruminate on it for very long. The next drawer popped open and he fished through the contents inside. He found a couple of folders neatly stacked on top of each other. Once he had grabbed them, he started to flip through the contents, finding some random photos and notes about some restaurant in New York, and some other bits of information, newspaper clippings mostly, that made little sense.

Sam was about to reach for another folder when he found a small black book. Without hesitation, he snatched it and started to flip through it.

An address book. Finally.

Sam found "W" and opened it. There, he found Dean's name and address. His heart stopped. Lawrence, Kansas.

Just below it, he had his parents' address listed. Unsurprisingly, it was their old house. He stared at his father's number for a minute, tempted, but thought better of it. Sam dialed Dean's number.

"Yello?"

"Dean."

"Hey, Sammy. To what do I owe this honor?"

Sam sighed with relief. "You're okay."

"I would hope so."

Sam nodded to himself. Chances were that whatever had affected him hadn't rippled out to anyone else. If Sam had been dislodged into a dream or a changed timeline and Dean hadn't been transplanted with him, this Dean would be clueless. But Sam had to be sure.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

There was a moment of silence. Sam could hear the frown through the phone. "We're playing twenty questions?"

Sam groaned. "Just humor me."

"Okay," Dean said. "I ate a tuna sandwich."

Sam rubbed his forehead. That wasn't exactly the type of answer he was looking for, but it would do for now.

"Anything weird going on?" Sam asked.

"Weird?" He heard Dean sigh. "You're not getting in with the druggie crowd, are you?"

"Dean, just answer the question."

"No. I don't know." He paused again. "Well, now that you mention it…"

Sam frowned. "What?"

"See, today I got this phone call from my brother who never, ever calls, and to top it off, he calls at seven in the morning and starts asking me what I ate last night. Scary stuff."

Sam scowled. "Nice."

"Ask a stupid question…"

"Okay." Sam slammed his hand on the desk and stood. Dean, whoever or whatever he was here, was okay. That was all he needed to know. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Something going on I should know about?" Dean's voice grew dark, the concern laced throughout the question.

"No. I'd just heard some reports of some power failures out in Lawrence and I wanted to check."

"Sam…"

"Take it easy." Sam cut the call.

He exhaled and braced the desk. Dean wouldn't be any help to him this time. Either he was different, mind wiped, or some other alternative. Sam needed to find this mirror and figure out what it did so he could reverse it or fix it. Dean would just slow him down.

Sam was alone on this one.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Nothing special leaped out at him from the desk. Sam had spent the last twenty minutes going through every drawer, hoping to find an invoice, a bill of sale, anything, that would tell him more about his mystery mirror.

So far, he had gleaned from the paperwork that he was a defense lawyer who had won some big case that had received national attention and normally worked out of an office in New York. He had no idea why his law persona was in Boston, and frankly, he wasn't overly interested in finding out. He needed to find those invoices.

Sam leaned back in his chair and sighed. If he had been in the market for an antique mirror, where would he store his paperwork?

He glanced at the file cabinet across the room. It couldn't be that simple.

Sam crossed the room to the cabinet and shook one of the handles. As he suspected, it was locked, just like everything else in the room. At least the cabinets were labeled. Cases A-F were on the first drawer, which each file drawer holding subsequent parts of the alphabet. Sam knew he wasn't going to find any invoices for private purchases in his caseloads. He knew himself better than that.

However, next to the cabinet stood a smaller, darker filing cabinet. Nothing was labeled, yet each drawer was locked. Sam was immediately drawn to it.

Sam crouched down to pick the lock on each drawer. Breaking the locks proved trickier than the desk, but with a little persistence, he managed to snap them. Sam opened the top drawer.

He was surprised to find even more case files. Sam grabbed the first one he saw and flipped it open, curious why he wouldn't have labeled them.

He didn't have to stay curious for long.

Satanic images popped off the pages. Bloody pictures, gruesome murder details, and snatches of spell work were tucked and clipped to what looked like pages of his handwriting. The file was littered with occult paraphernalia.

"What the hell kind of lawyer am I?"

"Mr. Winchester."

Sam shut the file and rose to his feet. In the doorway stood a young blonde woman dressed in a trim, tailored suit. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun and her face was hard as stone. Sam got the impression she wasn't one to be crossed.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'm here for our 9 o'clock appointment." She arched her eyebrows, giving him a once over. "I assume it's business casual today, but I missed the memo."

Sam glanced down at his sweats, but turned back to her unfazed. "Is there a reason why everyone seems to be able to just waltz into my apartment?"

"Funny. As usual." She lifted her briefcase before she pointed to the living room. "I'll wait for you in the living room while you get your act together."

She went to leave, but Sam cleared his throat, effectively stopping her.

"I'm canceling all appointments for today. You'll have to reschedule."

"Don't think you can get rid of me that easily. Now, get a move on. We have a lot of work to do."

Sam watched her exit, listening to her high heels click on the hard wood floor. He sighed and slammed the file into the cabinet. This was perfect. He didn't need any more distractions.

After he finished tidying up his office, Sam went back to the bedroom and fished through the closet. Just with a quick glance, he could tell that his business suits came with a hefty price tag. He scanned for the cheapest looking one he could find and went with it. There was no need to look his best when he had every intention of dismissing the woman, and leaving this life, this apartment, and everything it came with far behind him.

"Let's get this over with," Sam said, fixing his suit jacket as he entered the living room. "I have a lot of work to do today.

"Yes, you do," she said. Sam frowned when she whipped out a daily planner. "You have to be downtown for 10 o'clock to okay some additional changes to the building if you want to have your office open on time. You also have a conference call with Mr. Hadley and Mr. Davis at 2 'o clock." She sighed. "Oh, yes. You have that consultation at 11."

Sam eased himself onto one of his leather recliners. "You're my personal assistant."

"Glad you finally woke up," she said dryly. "Should I continue?"

"No, that's all right," Sam said. "I'm afraid I do have to cancel my appointments for today. Something pressing has come up."

"Oh?" Her cool eyes were on him again. "More important that speaking with your bosses?"

"My bosses." Sam paused for a moment and then nodded. He remembered coming across their names several times when he had rummaged through the desk. "Mr. Hadley and Mr. Davis."

"I'm sure they would be very interested in hearing what could be more important than them."

Sam kept himself posed and relaxed in front of the woman, but barely. Time was ticking and he needed to track down that mirror. He couldn't be wasting time playing normal with a bunch of people he had no use for currently.

"It's a family emergency. I think they would understand."

For the first time, her severe face softened. "That is workable. I'll let them know. Though, is there anyway you can keep your 10 o'clock?"

Sam glanced down at his watch. He'd like to say no, but he suddenly had the notion that this woman _could_ be useful. Besides, maybe he had something stashed in the office that could help him figure out what was happening.

"Sure," he said. "I'll get downtown right away."

She nodded, the twinkle in her eye giving him confirmation that she was pleased. "And should I go cancel your 11 o'clock as well?"

Sam nodded. There was no way he was going to sit with a potential client when by this time tomorrow he planned on having back his not-so-normal life.

"Good." She crossed out the date in the planner and rose to her feet, taking out her phone. "You don't need to be associated with that sort of thing here anyway."

He frowned. "What sort of thing?"

"Oh, you know. That little 'pet' project of yours. Some of the big boys might have thought it was cute in New York, but if you make a habit out of it, it's going to hurt your reputation."

Sam blinked. He had no idea what she was talking about.

"Oh, don't play those games with me, Mr. Winchester. I know what you've been doing all too well."

Sam laughed. "You do? I knew there was a reason I keep you as my personal assistant. You're too smart for your own good."

The woman beamed at the praise. "And you're too clever." She gave him a significant look before she packed up her briefcase and started for the exit. "Now, just drop those charity cases, and you'll be all set," she called over her shoulder as she walked.

Sam hopped from his seat and hurried to join her. "What would I do without them?" He couldn't get a read on whether she was just playing along with him, or if he could really fish additional details out of her without seeming insane. He stopped at the door and held it open for her. "So, just who was my charity case of the day?"

"The lovely janitor who shot that poor college girl in the heart." She leaned close and waved her cell. "Between you and me, I'll enjoy this. He was so desperate when he made the appointment. We both know you can do better."

"Your opinion has been noted." He paused at the door and flashed her a charming smile. "Do you think I could manage another favor out of you today?"

She crossed her arms. "And what kind of favor would that be?"

"I recently purchased an antique mirror, and then decided to sell it. I've started having some second thoughts. Do you think you could track down the invoices so I can have another look?"

His assistant dropped her arms. "It's not that ugly mirror you had wanted for the office, is it?"

Sam played his guilty as charged look and gave a slight shrug. "That would be the one."

"I'll get the file together and drop it off here later this afternoon," she said with a defeated sigh. "And here I thought we were making progress."

"One battle at a time," he told her.

"And I'm losing the war." She shook her head. "I'll speak with you later, Mr. Winchester."

"Thank you." He shut the door and let out a deep breath.

Score one victory for the day. Now, he just had to run down to his office, check on a few things, and wait for those invoices. He just hoped that he wasn't already too late to stop whatever Lilith had planned.

* * * *

The building was old and carried a certain aura to it, heavy and aged, burdened with the years and lives that it outlasted, like many of the structures in Boston. Even though Sam should have expected one of the more historic looking buildings to serve as his office, part of him was surprised he wasn't in one of the vast metallic tinted skyscrapers that stretched toward the upper atmosphere.

"It's all about appearance," echoed the voice of one of his old mentors. Funny how he could hear the professor's voice as clear as day here and now, when just a day ago he had been nothing but a forgotten memory.

Sam stopped in front of the door to his private office, pausing as he stared at the lettering etched into the glass. "Attorney Winchester." Sam had to admit the name had a nice ring to it. Perhaps in another life the title was something that would make him proud. Then, he remembered this was a different life, and he sobered to the idea.

Sam unlocked the door and searched the office. In the center, near the window, was a large mahogany desk, with a sleek lamp and computer. Across from the desk was a large and expansive bookshelf littered with as many, if not more, books as his library at home. The office included its own bathroom, a sofa, and chairs for what Sam would assume were for his clients. Despite the age of the building, the inside was state of the art. Like the secretary's office, the conference room, and the main lobby, his office held the aroma of new leather, computer components straight from the package, and that sterile cleansing smell of disinfectant and plastic.

He rounded the desk and eased himself into the large, plush leather chair. His gaze darted to the computer on the desk.

Within minutes, he had the computer online and running. The only problem was that his files, naturally, were password protected.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh. He didn't have time for this. He'd already wasted an hour talking to the workers finishing up the office for his "grand opening." But he also knew that if his files about the mirror were anywhere, they would be on this computer. He was organized enough to make sure business receipts and personal ones remained separate.

After a moment of staring at the screen, Sam broke awake and grabbed a pen and pad of paper. He let the thoughts flow, crossing out words he knew would be too simplistic for his taste, and crossing out ones that were insanely ridiculous for someone working in a law firm.

He searched the walls again, noticing a blank area on the surface to his right. He instantly knew that would be where the degrees would go, as well as any proof of his credentials.

His eyes darted to the bookcase.

Sam could identify several of the books. He knew them from his undergrad days. Many more were equally foreign to him. The experience of his life here versus his true life could be so vast in their differences that Sam wasn't sure even his best guesses would crack his locked files.

He needed to find common ground.

Once again his gaze fell to his library. Then, a thought struck him.

Sam started to scribble a bunch of random Latin phrases that came to his mind.

He eliminated most of the Biblical or supernatural phrases and prayers he had learned over the course of his life, as well as the simple and common words that many Americans would know from common culture.

But one phrase stuck out at him, one that had always remained with him during his college days. It was a phrase that always seemed to call to him somehow, speak to his desires and his sense of justice.

Curious, Sam typed in the Latin for "pay the penalty."

The computer rejected it.

"Dammit," Sam grumbled. He thought back to that class. He always enjoyed that teacher, the room itself, and general atmosphere it had contained. He never would forget it; every last detail was committed to memory, even the number of the classroom.

Sam smiled.

He typed in poenasdare06 and watched the computer spring to life.

Sam wasted no time in searching for any information on this elusive mirror of his. It didn't take him long to find a file just on office purchases, mirror included. Sam brought up the file along with some digital photos.

He recognized the mirror immediately. The antique had definitely been inside the basement of the shop. The mirror was made of finely polished steel, its concave surface warping any of its shimmering reflections. Still, despite this deformity, lawyer Sam had managed to find an extensive list of buyers who had owed the mirror through history, dating all the way back to early medieval France, and had added that to his file.

The mirror was a popular antique. And why wouldn't it be? Sam noted that it had an entire legend wrapped around it: the mirror was a tool in divination.

He sat back and let his mind absorb that bit of information. Mirrors had been used as a form of divination for millennia. They could be found through several ancient cultures and among countless ancient legends and myths. But what Sam was experiencing right now was not even close to simple divination. No, he knew that this mirror was much different.

Maybe the hard copies that his assistant was gathering for him would have more details. He needed to know the specifics about this mirror. While the invoices gave him the details in words, Sam had a feeling that there was something concrete in the mirror itself that would finally give him the information he needed so he could break free of this nightmare, destroy the demon, and find Dean.

At least he had a paper trail.

Sam picked up his office phone and dialed the number of the person who had bought the mirror from him. He sighed, hearing the jovial voice of a man on the trading company's answering machine. Sam left a message for a call back at his office and hung up the phone.

This was a delay he couldn't afford. In the meantime, he decided to print out the photos, invoices, and files he had associated with the mirror.

While that was printing, he rose to check out his small library, only to stop when he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," he said.

A small petite brunette, a woman he'd come to know as Tabby, his office assistant, hovered at the door. In her hands, she held a file and a cell phone.

He frowned. "What's this?"

"Ms. Diego left them for you. She said you had requested a hard copy on your recent office purchases?"

Sam nodded. The assistant from early that morning. "Yes, thank you." He took the file, but frowned again at the phone.

"She also said that she couldn't reach your cell, so she took the liberty of using the account funds to buy you a new one."

He offered a sheepish grin as he took the phone. "Nice call on her part."

No way could he explain to her that his phone didn't work in whatever kind of place this was.

"Also, there is a gentleman on the line for you. I tried to tell him that you weren't seeing anyone today, but he refused to get off the line."

"Don't worry about it," he told Tabby. "I'll take care of it."

Sam carried the file and the phone back to his desk. He waited a moment before answering to flip through the hard file that Ms. Diego had compiled for him.

Most of the file was just a copy of what had already been saved to disk. Though Sam did notice that there were some papers that hadn't been scanned onto the system yet. He slipped them out of the file and started to examine them as he answered the phone.

"Attorney Winchester?"

"Yes. Look, Mister…"

"My name is Randy Pinto. We were supposed to have a consultation. I want you as my attorney."

"Yes, I know and I'm sorry I had to cancel. I have a family matter I have to attend to right now."

"Oh."

Sam tried to ignore the disappointment in the man's voice, but there was something about his tone that kept drawing Sam back. He paused over one of the more detailed photos of the mirror and remained quiet, sensing Randy would continue.

"Please, Mr. Winchester. I heard about you. I know what they say on the street. I got no where else to go."

Sam frowned. "What have you heard on the street?"

"That you help. You help people like me."

Sam felt his heart start to race as the gruesome images from his unmarked file cabinet flooded his mind. "People like you?"

"Yes, you know…" His voice trailed off until it was barely audible over the phone. "Hunters."

Sam fell silent. While he wasn't really surprised, he still found himself slightly thrown by the news. Representing innocent hunters who had become victims to the legal system never occurred to him. But, given his circumstances in his reality, he would have never had a chance to even consider that option. He'd never graduated. He'd never had much of a normal life. It seemed that even here, despite the normalcy of his everyday life, the supernatural still found its way to him. He wasn't really sure how to process all of this information.

"Attorney Winchester?"

"Sorry." Sam cleared his throat and tried to focus. "Death of a college girl."

"She was a werewolf."

"You're sure?"

The man snorted "'Course I'm sure. Been hunting those things for ten years. I'm always careful, but…"

"Not this time."

He heard a sigh. "I can't – I can't go into it here."

Sam understood. "Have you posted bail?"

He could hear Randy shake his head. "No."

"When is your hearing?"

"Next week," he said in a small voice.

Sam couldn't believe he was going to say this but…"My assistant will post bail for you, but you have to stay within the city. Next week we'll meet to discuss your case."

"Thank you," came Randy's shaky voice. "Thank you."

Sam wished him well and hung up the phone. Not even his pleasant goodbye could ease the weight he felt pressing on his shoulders. He had no intention of being here a week from now, and depending on where "here" was, Randy Pinto might never get the help he needed.

He vaguely wondered how many cases he had won for the hunters he had represented. He wondered if it had made a difference or if it had just been a way to win sympathy as a philanthropist in the eyes of the public. Sam knew he would probably never find out the real truth. He still had no idea whether he was trapped in someone's fantasy or if he had been sent somewhere.

Not that it mattered. He still had a job to finish.

His gaze fell back to the photos.

Two of the photos were more detailed than the digital ones on his computer. Large and glossy, they covered every scratch, scrape, or dent to the steel backing of the mirror. He leaned forward, certain he had seen some etchings in the corners of the mirror. When his careful scrutiny proved fruitless, he reached into his drawer for a magnifying glass.

That's when he found it. In each corner there was inscribed a Biblical name: "Jehovah," "Eloym," "Metatron," and "Adonay."

Sam turned to the computer and started a word search.

His eyes widened.

"Angels."

While he knew that the names were holy names, he hadn't expected them to be associated with angels. In fact, the incantation that went with the mirror and these names, specifically, was to invoke the angel named Anael. Sam hadn't heard Castiel, Uriel, or even Anna mention that particular angel, but it's not like he was exactly in their circle of trust.

More importantly, Dean never had said anything about that angel.

Again, the text he found online only associated the mirror with divination. The mirror was something called the Mirror of Solomon, and it sounded powerful. The rite to summon Anael was archaic and complex, involving a blood sacrifice of a pigeon. Then, after forty-five days, Anael would appear to grant the operator's request.

That wasn't what had happened. There was more to this incantation.

Sam felt his anger grow. The demon knew. The demon had known what was going to happen and he and Dean had been part of the set up.

Sam didn't need anyone to connect the dots for him. While the text never said anything about needing a human blood sacrifice, Sam knew that was what exactly had happened. Dean's blood had triggered the mirror and whatever purpose it held.

And according to the text, the same pigeon's blood that opened the incantation would have to seal it.

Sam knew what that meant.

And it killed him inside.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Thank you, Ms. Diego." Sam ended the call and tried to hail the nearest taxi. The blonde assistant wasn't too happy about the bond request, but he was certain she would carry it out anyway. At least Randy Pinto could enjoy a little bit of freedom before Sam left this world behind.

Sam took a deep breath and started onto phase two. He dialed Dean's number.

"Two calls in one day," Dean muttered. "What is this? The apocalypse?"

"That's not funny."

"Okay…"

"Where are you?" Sam asked abruptly.

"The house. Where else would I be?"

"The house." Sam sighed. "Right."

"What about you?" He heard mutter something else, muffled and inaudible, before his voice cleared. "Lemme guess. You calling from Maui? No wait, Tahiti, right?"

Sam arched his eyebrows at the comment. Just how much money had he made off his high profile cases?

"Never mind any of that," Sam said. He glanced up and moved to the curb to allow some pedestrians to pass. He held the phone closer and lowered his voice. "Can you come by?"

"The penthouse?" Dean sounded confused.

"Penthouse." Sam rolled his eyes. Right. He kept forgetting he actually had a place to live. "Sure."

"Dude, tell me you didn't buy another house."

"What? No. Come to my penthouse."

"Which one?"

"Which one?" Sam sighed in exasperation. "Just come to Boston, Dean."

"Now?"

"Yes. Pack up and get up here. It's important."

"It's gonna take me a few days," Dean told him. "And my baby doesn't get good gas mileage."

"I'll pay the gas for you when you get over here. Just –" Sam pursed his lips, trying to light a fire under Dean without tipping him off to what needed to be done. "Just get here as fast as you can. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"All right." Dean's voice softened, the concern evident in his tone. "I'll get there like yesterday."

Sam nodded into the phone, hoping his appreciation carried the distance. "Thanks. I'll see you soon." He ended the call and sighed.

Sam didn't know how he would convince Dean that he needed a sample of his blood. There was always the elaborate blood donor scam they'd used a few times when they needed fresh blood for a few rituals, but even with Dean out of the hunter world, he would see right through that lie. Sam took some comfort in the fact he had at least a couple of days to come up with a story, but he still had to find the mirror first.

And then, he still had no idea what to do when he had everything.

He'd think of something. He always did.

* * * *

Sam felt a wave of relief wash over him as he entered the penthouse suite. He couldn't really lie to himself; coming back to do research in a comfy, well-kept apartment was a lot more enticing than some of the sketchy dumps that he and Dean frequented. Still, he had to admit that he felt a pang of longing for those trashy motels. At least he knew they were real. He could trust them.

He dumped his briefcase on the kitchen counter. As Sam paused to scan the apartment, he realized he didn't really know where to begin. The apartment seemed huge, and empty, and though Sam knew the sensation was ridiculous, he had never felt more adrift in all his life. He knew that he couldn't even call Ruby for advice. No Bobby. No Dean.

Sam was no stranger to being alone. Independent in spirit, he never minded striking out on his own. This time was different. This time the isolation had a bitter tone. He almost felt as if something terrible was lurking in the shadows, just out of reach, threatening to rip apart everything around him.

And despite the isolation, he couldn't shake the very real feeling that he was being watched.

Sam grabbed an apple from the counter and headed back to his office. It would take Dean a couple of days to get to Boston by car, which gave Sam more time than he knew what to do with. He needed to make the most of it. He had work to do.

Armed with a better idea of this alternate self, Sam hacked into his personal computer with ease. After he bypassed the password protection on his personal computer, he hunted through the files and searched for anything else that might help him make sense of his situation.

There really wasn't much to be found. Sam had the usual on his computer - finances, organized files on this and that, personal items, and while he did find a few bits on old purchases, he didn't seem to have anything important related to the mirror he was searching for.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. There had to be something more. There had to be more reasons.

Sam decided to give the antiquer another call. After a few rings, he sighed and shook his head. He opted not to leave another message since all that would do would anger the seller. And since he really needed to have that mirror back, he had to take as many precautions as necessary.

Sam tapped the desk and stared at the wall. Angels. This all seemed to link back to angels. If he could only figure out how and why, and why the demon was so hell-bent on this particular item. Was the mirror itself the seal? Or was there something more going on here? Sam couldn't place his finger on it, but something deep down inside of him told him that there was a larger issue at hand. He just feared that this issue would turn into something unstoppable.

He glanced down at his watch. He'd only been back for a few hours and he was already getting anxious. He needed to do something. He needed to get something done. He needed to know that Dean - the Dean he knew and grew up with - was okay. He couldn't find those answers sitting here in front of a desk.

With another heavy sigh, Sam flicked off the monitor.

A ghostly face peered at him through the dead monitor and leaned over his left shoulder, his lips moving but without sound.

Sam jerked and spun around. "Cas?"

Nothing but emptiness surrounded him.

Sam eased back into the seat despite the lingering tension in his shoulders. He could have sworn that he had seen Castiel. The angel had been standing there, hovering behind him, but draped in an unnatural silence that was even suspicious for his kind. But as much as Sam searched the room now, he couldn't find anything that would indicate Castiel had been in the room.

Maybe Sam was losing his mind. Maybe this all really was in his head.

He had changed a lot since Dean had passed. He swallowed hard and tried not to think of all he had done or how far he had come.

One thing he knew - he couldn't wait days and days for Dean to get here. He needed to get his hands on that mirror now. He needed Dean here now. He needed to get this nightmare over so he could go back to the way things were before.

He might not be one to dwell on the past, but he certainly wasn't one to live in a fantasy either.


	4. Chapter 4

The night hadn't been a restful one. After the little incident with the phantom Castiel, Sam had snapped the computer back on and tried a new tactic. A few Internet searches later, and he still couldn't connect the number for the antiquer to the actual warehouse. Sam had decided to leave the apartment to try to find any antique shops or warehouses in the general vicinity that might hold the mirror. When that had proved to be a dead end, Sam had returned to the apartment and spent most of the night poring over the invoices, finishing additional research on the mirror, and trying to make sense of how it all linked to angels and demons. Sometime after two, he must have fallen asleep at his desk.

Sam lifted his head off the desk and rubbed his eyes. The computer had shut down long ago, but his paperwork was still spread across the desk. Sam took a moment to straighten out the mess before he leaned back in his chair and sighed.

Dean had to be on his way by now. Sam considered giving him a call to see what state he was in, but then thought better of it. The last thing he wanted was to make this problem even bigger than it already was.

He glanced down at his watch. He figured he should check his messages and start making cancellations for the day. Then, if he had a chance, grab something to eat before he hunted down the mirror.

Sam wandered out into the kitchen and checked the phone. Ten messages blinked on the answering machine. Sam went through them quickly. Two were about potential clients. Three were from Ms. Diego, angry he blew their appointment at a restaurant this morning. Two more were someone named Ross who seemed annoyed he didn't "show" last night, whatever that meant. One was from a girl named Rhonda and another from Maddie saying she'd be late. The last one was just a reminder of all the appointments he had to keep today.

Sam scribbled down the various meetings he had for the day, called his office, and promptly canceled every single one. When Tabby questioned him about all the cancellations and what to tell Ms. Diego, Sam reassured her everything was fine and that he was still dealing with a family matter.

He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to use that excuse with nothing to show for it. Until he could think of something more concrete or until Dean arrived, it would have to do.

Sam grabbed an apple and opened the phone book. He had a busy day ahead.

* * * *

Sam crossed off the eleventh antique shop on his list. Between last night and today, he'd managed to hit the most well-known shops in the downtown area of Boston, some known just by word of mouth and others that were heavily advertised online and on the street.

None of the shops carried anything remotely close to the mirror he needed. When he asked some of the shop owners about the mirror or asked if they knew a Patrick Shaker, the gentleman he'd been trying to reach for over a day, they just shook their heads and sent him on his way.

Sam knew he was going to have to expand his search by starting to look into different sections of Boston and perhaps the suburbs around the city. That could take days. Even weeks.

He didn't have that much time.

Frustrated, Sam threw the notepad on one of the kitchen counters and plopped down on a barstool. He'd been in this place for a couple of days, and he was still no closer to discovering the truth of this reality. At this point, all he really knew was that the mirror was key somehow, angels were involved, and he seemed to be the only one affected.

If he could only figure out why.

Sam sighed and grabbed his notepad again. He couldn't wallow in misery. He needed to get this finished.

That's when the doorbell rang.

He frowned. Sam had specifically told his contacts that he wasn't to be disturbed today. He let his gaze linger on the door before he turned back to his tasks. He would have ignored the doorbell and continued when he heard it buzz again.

Whoever the person was, they were persistent.

He thought maybe it was Dean.

Sam slid off the stool and walked to the door, stooping to peer at the surveillance monitor by the entrance. Outside stood a slender, polished looking man, with long dreads that were tied at the nape of his neck. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for Sam to answer.

He certainly wasn't Dean. And he certainly wasn't anyone Sam recognized.

The man buzzed again. And again. Sam could see him grumble something to himself as he waited outside the front door into the building.

Sam knew he wasn't going to go away.

Sam held down the call button and leaned into the door. "I'm not taking visitors today."

"Visitors? Man, it's Ross. Quit the act and let me in."

"Ross?" Sam recalled the name from his answering machine. He still had no idea who Ross was. "Look, I'm sorry. Family emergency. I can't right now."

When he turned back to the monitor, he jerked, surprised to find Ross had vanished. A sudden sinking feeling hit him. Whoever this guy was, he wouldn't easily quit. Sam had gathered that much.

Sure enough, he heard a rapping at his door.

With a sigh, Sam opened the door and glared at him.

Ross was just as abrasive as Dean. He pushed Sam aside and entered, not even to bother to wait to be asked inside. He immediately went into the living room and eased himself onto the couch.

"So, what's this big family emergency?" he asked.

Sam gave him a pensive look, trying to size up the stranger. He was sure what kind of relationship they had, but if he were to take a guess, he would have to say Ross came to the apartment often. "My brother's coming to town," Sam said. "I've just been busy trying to take care of family business."

"Your brother? The idiot mechanic from Kansas?"

Sam's face darkened. "Don't call him that."

Ross rolled his eyes. "When did you get so high and mighty?"

Sam didn't answer him. He found he wasn't all that surprised Dean was a mechanic. He'd figured it all along, but hadn't bothered to look it up and confirm it for himself.

"You blew off the club last night. Not even a call to cancel." Ross looked down to pluck a piece of lint off his business suit. He glanced up and gave Sam a pointed look. "It's not like you."

Sam stared at him. He supposed it wasn't like him. He wondered just what would be like him. He didn't know what kind of person Ross kept expecting to see. He didn't think he really wanted to know.

"We were supposed to do lunch today with Cindy and Tammy when I got off my shift at the bank." His eyes darkened. "Didn't remember that either?"

"I cancelled my appointments today."

"So, you're treating your friends like business appointments now."

Sam sighed. "It's not like that."

"Then what's it like?" Ross asked. "I heard about what's going on. About how you've blown off your bosses and you've been just wandering around looking at antiques all day." He shook his head. "Man, what's wrong with you? This isn't the Sam I know. The Sam I know would be out there, living it up, and working his ass off. What's going on?"

"I've got a lot on my mind."

"So?" Ross stood and crossed the room to stare him in the face. "None of this normal, Sam. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought the job made you snap. But I know you well, and I know that's not it. What is it?"

Sam shook his head. "Look, I really don't have to time to get into it. My brother will be here any time."

"Your family is like poison, man. You know that."

Once, Sam would have agreed with him. Now, family was all he really had left.

"I promise when this is all over, everything will be normal again. It's just this one thing I have to do."

Ross eyed him closely. Sam could see doubt, maybe even a hint of fear, in the man's face. Mostly, he saw pain from being shut out.

"I promise," Sam repeated.

"Yeah, yeah." Ross brushed by him again and headed to the door. "You owe me a good explanation once your bother leaves town." And with that, he walked out the door.

Sam shut the door and closed his eyes. That was the second false promise he had made in the past two days. Knowing he was lying to who seemed like good people ate him up inside. He wondered just how far his lies would take him, and if there were ever a day where he could stop.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sam was losing patience. No matter whom he called, where he searched, or whom he cross-referenced, he couldn't find the damn mirror. He'd even called Mr. Shaker again, hoping to reach him, but the elusive man just could not be found.

He knew the longer it took him to find the mirror, the more likely this mess would escalate. The demons (or angels) were doing something. He knew that Castiel had told Dean that time couldn't be changed. So what was he experiencing? What was happening, and why only to him?

Was he trapped in a mirror world of his own making?

Sam couldn't keep the charade up for much longer. People like Ross could see something was wrong. He wouldn't be able to hide from his clients, his bosses, or any of the other perks and pitfalls of the legal world. Everything would crash on him, and crash soon, if he didn't find a way to fix it.

With a sigh, Sam closed the notepad and stared at the phone. He considered calling Mr. Shaker again, but he was afraid to scare the guy. Sam needed to do anything to secure the mirror, not kill his chances.

Then, the buzzer rang.

Sam groaned. He couldn't deal with another so-called buddy bugging him.

When the buzzer rang for the fourth consecutive time, Sam pulled himself up and walked back to the front door where the monitor for the security camera was stationed. He jerked, surprised to find Dean leaning against the entryway, poking at the buzzer over and over.

"I hear you," Sam said, pushing the call back button. "Come up."

"About time," Dean mumbled back.

Sam didn't care if this was mindwiped Dean, a fantasy Dean, or a different Dean altogether. It was great to actually see him.

He reached over and unlocked the door, standing back to wait for Dean to make it upstairs. Sam still didn't know how he was going to convince Dean of his dilemma, what he was going to say, or what he should even expect.

Sam didn't have time to dwell. Within moments, he heard shuffling in the hall outside of the elevators. When he heard a loud grunt, Sam reached over and opened the door, finding Dean leaning against the frame of the door, his arms straining to hold the various suitcases he carried.

"What's the emergency?" he asked, rather breathless.

Sam took a moment to appraise him. He seemed much like the Dean he remembered, but there were some small differences. His face was fuller, not by much, but had the healthy glow of someone who regularly enjoyed home cooked meals. His plaid shirt was buttoned and tucked into his jeans, and his disheveled hair, slightly longer, fell flat on his head.

"You just gonna stare or you plan on helping?"

Sam gave a sheepish grin as he grabbed some of the suitcases. He was about to ask if Dean had remembered to pack the kitchen sink, but before he could speak, he froze.

Behind Dean stood a slender blonde carrying a small young girl. A little boy clutched her free hand.

"Hi, Sam," she said.

Sam stared at the four of them. He was speechless.

The little boy, as if finally realizing where they were, released the woman's hand and launched himself at Sam. He threw his arms around Sam's legs and squeezed hard. When Sam looked down, the little boy was beaming. "Uncle Sam!"

The hole in the pit of Sam's stomach deepened. His voice finally returned, and the words were out before he could censor himself. "You have kids?"

The smile on the woman's face faltered and Dean's looked mutinous. Sam quickly backtracked and cleared his throat. "I mean, you have your kids with you?"

"Charlotte didn't want me to come alone," Dean told him. He ushered the boy away from Sam and back to his mother. "Afraid I might speed and get into an accident or something."

Sam let out a half-hearted laugh. He didn't know how to respond to that.

Deciding not to bury himself any further, he secured his grip on the luggage and started toward his room. "Come in and sit down," he called over his shoulder. Dean followed him with the rest of the suitcases.

They both set the luggage down in his master bedroom. As Sam glanced at the bed, a sudden thought occurred to him. He had no idea where he was going to have everyone sleep. The second bedroom served as his study, and he couldn't stick any of them on the couch. He supposed they could all fit on his master bed, but even though the kids were small, that was going to be a tight fit.

He wondered if he had an air mattress or cots around, but one look at his opulent surroundings and he guessed that was about as likely as pigs flying.

"You could at least pretend," Dean muttered, as he stood in the doorway and glanced out to the living room. "You might see them only like twice a year, but they exist, you know."

"Sorry," Sam managed to say. "I just expected you to come alone."

Dean just shrugged off the comment and waited at the doorway. Sam wanted more than anything to pull him aside and tell him what was happening, fill him in on every last detail, but there was something holding him back. Sam felt guarded, and that old ache returned.

He had only been with this Dean for a few minutes, but already there was a palpable distance between them, not unlike the one that had been killing him this past year since Dean had come back from Hell. The disappointment pressed down on his shoulders. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting.

"So, what's this emergency?" Dean asked again, this time with evident annoyance in his voice. "What did ya need me for?"

Sam looked at him. Blurting out how he needed to use Dean as a blood sacrifice wouldn't be the best way to open this conversation. He ran his fingers through his hair. The family revelation was complicating things.

The agitation in Dean's eyes softened, and Sam swore he saw a hint of concern. "What?" he asked. "What's got you ruffled?"

There was a crash in the living room.

Dean bolted from the room. Sam followed him and stopped when he saw the destruction. One of the kids, the boy, apparently had knocked over one of the expensive vases that he kept on his coffee table. The boy was in tears, his face buried in his mother's pants as she stroked his hair.

"He got excited and knocked it over," Charlotte said.

"It's okay," Sam said. In truth, he didn't even know what that vase was supposed to represent, so he wasn't bothered in the least. "It was just an accident."

He reached over to the supply closet in the hall and retrieved a dustpan and brush. When he reentered the room, he saw Dean already trying to pick up the sharp edges with his hands, while the little girl watched, babbling, as she kicked her little legs off the side of the sofa.

Sam had no time to make this place kid proof. He was still reeling at the idea of kids. No matter how hard he tried to process the information, the idea of Dean as a father wouldn't stick.

Sam bent low and swept up the remaining pieces, holding the dustpan steady so Dean could dump the large pieces he'd scraped off the floor.

"It's okay, uh…" Sam let his voice trial off, suddenly mortified when he realized he didn't know the kids' names. "Don't worry about it."

He could feel Dean's glare burning a hole in the side of his head. He did his best to ignore it and finished cleaning the mess, walking quickly from the living room to the kitchen so no one could see how embarrassed he was.

Sam needed to think of something fast. He needed a way to keep them occupied while he came up with a plan. While he prided himself on the ability to think fast, he knew he was at a distinct disadvantage in this situation.

He swung the refrigerator door open and sighed. Just as he's expected, there wasn't much inside. He had a few necessities, and some bottles of water, and a bottle of wine chilling on the last shelf, but he severely lacked any food of substance. He could only guess that he spent most of his time dining out with friends and clients.

When he felt a presence behind him, he slammed the door shut and went for the kitchen counter. He knew Dean was watching his every move. He avoided his gaze and started to flip through the phone book.

"Do they like pizza?" Sam asked, his finger hovering over the closest parlor location. "What do they like on it?"

"Timothy and Rebecca," Dean finally told him. There was no mirth in his face or in his eyes. "I'd have thought you'd know their names by now."

Sam winced. He was sure that if he really was an estranged brother living the life of a city lawyer, he would at least know their names, but nothing short of a miracle would magically dump a lifetime's worth of alternate experiences into Sam's head right now.

"What the hell's wrong with you? Are we that unimportant?"

Sam faced Dean. There was a mix of sadness, pain, anger, and concern laced throughout the features of his face. Vaguely, Sam wondered if this was how Dean must have felt when he was trapped in the world created by the djinn.

"No," Sam said quietly. "It's not like that."

"Then what's it like? Huh? Because right now I feel like I'm talking to a total stranger."

Dean didn't know how right he was.

"I'll explain later. I promise," he said. "But you look hungry. Let's order some pizza first to feed the kids."

Dean didn't look too happy at the suggestion, but Sam was sure the appeal of food would win out in the end if this version of Dean were anything like the one he remembered. When Dean didn't protest, Sam took that as a sign that he agreed. Sam called the pizza parlor and placed his order, hoping for the deliveryman to get there as quickly as possible. Hopefully, the act of eating together would break the ice.

* * * *

Mealtime was awkward. Sam had ordered a couple of pizzas, some soda, and paper cups and plates. Charlotte sat with Rebecca diagonal from him at the table, Dean across from him, and Timothy had dislodged himself from his parents to firmly plant himself by Sam's right side. Every so often, when Sam stole a peek to his right, he saw the little boy smiling up at him. Sam would promptly stare at his plate.

Charlotte kept quiet through the dinner. After she cut up a couple of cheese pizza slices into bite-sized pieces for Timothy and Rebecca, she started on her own slice. When she wasn't watching them eat, her uneasy gaze found him. He didn't know if she was shocked he hadn't shown off his expensive dinnerware or if she thought he figured they weren't good enough to be served with his very best.

Dean also remained quiet, but there was a dark air that hovered around him. Sam had become used to it back in his normal life; Dean had been carrying that same air like a black stain since he'd come back from Hell. But this time, here, Sam knew the circumstances were different. He could almost see through Dean if he tried hard enough, knowing his brother was struggling to work out why he was here, and when the other shoe would drop. Sam assumed Dean was trying to understand what the emergency could be, if it had been worth the trip, or if Sam was just playing one big mental game with him. From his encounter with other people in Boston, Sam knew that messing around with people's heads seemed to be one of his specialties.

He couldn't think about any of that right now. Sam knew he had to corner Dean, ensure they were alone for some privacy, so he could spring his plan on him. Sam just didn't know how to do it.

The only hint of normalcy came from the children who kept babbling on in a way that Sam didn't understand.

Dean was the first to speak. "You look thinner," he muttered. "Mom's gonna be pissed."

Sam tried to cover the ache that the mention of their mother caused by taking a bite of his slice of pepperoni pizza.

Charlotte cleared her throat and shook her head at Dean. He quickly censored himself by ramming another piece of pizza into his overfilled mouth.

"We would have been here sooner," she said, "but we hit some traffic on I-95 in Connecticut." She gave Dean a pointed look.

Dean ignored the look and downed half a glass of soda.

"Daddy's scared of planes," Timothy explained.

Sam swore he heard Dean mutter something about clowns under his breath as he continued to chew.

Another uncomfortable silence filled the room. Sam turned to his half-eaten pizza, moving to pluck a few extra pepperoni slices off the top. He could tell Timothy was leaning close, watching him with interest.

Then, a distinct odor hit the table, and Sam wrinkled his nose. Dean raised his eyebrows, and for a second, he thought he saw the ghost of a smile glide across his face. Charlotte was the one to make the move.

"Sam?" she asked, standing and plucking Rebecca out of her seat. "Is there anywhere I can use to change her?"

"Oh." Sam looked around. Nothing he knew would really serve as a changing table, aside from the counter. The thought of a dirty diaper all over the kitchen didn't sit well with him.

"Just use the bed," Dean said. "Sure Sammy won't mind."

Sam gave them both an uneasy smile. "Sure."

He watched Charlotte hurry Rebecca out of the kitchen, stooping to grab something in the connecting living room, before she rushed into his master bedroom. That left Sam alone with Timothy and Dean.

Sam stole another glance toward Timothy. His head dropped, his little stubby fingers picking at a large red stain on his shirt. The more he dug at it, the more the stain seemed to spread.

Dean was already on his feet. He dabbed a paper towel with some of his spit and started wiping at the spot. Timothy thought it was funny and let out a chuckle, but Dean managed to get the job done. Timothy seemed a little red faced from the ordeal, and for a moment Sam thought maybe he'd messed his pants, too.

Sam looked to Dean. "Does he--?"

"Nah," Dean said, picking up Timothy and plopping onto the seat next to Sam. He lowered the boy onto his lap. "I told you he'd been potty trained back at Thanksgiving dinner at Mom and Dad's."

"Right." Sam nodded for the hell of it.

Dean eyed him in that way that reminded Sam of a hunter on the prowl.

"Big boy pants!" Timothy exclaimed, slapping his shorts.

"That's right," Dean said, and for the first time that night, he saw his brother truly smile. He bounced the boy on his knee once before he bent over to look him in the face. "Why don't you go get some of your trucks to show Uncle Sam?"

"Okay!"

He squirmed in Dean's arms until his feet hit the floor. Then, he was off running for the living room. There was a momentary pause. As Sam leaned back for a better view, he saw the kid bolt from the living room, probably realizing none of his stuff was in there, and make a beeline for the bedroom.

"Hey, no running!" yelled Dean, but the boy zoomed into the bedroom regardless. Dean just shook his head. Once he was out of sight, Dean smiled again and muttered "Timmaaay" as he made a face.

Sam stared at him. "You named your son after South Park?"

Dean frowned. "Yeah, so? I like that show. It's got cartoon…dudes."

Sam laughed. For a second, he could have sworn he was sitting with his brother, the one he'd known all his life, not some other warped version that left him feeling uneasy and alone.

Dean wasn't laughing. He'd grown serious again, leaving Sam to wonder if he'd missed another detail or cue that he should have known.

"Is it cancer or something?" Dean asked, his voice grave, barely above a whisper.

Sam blinked. "What?"

"It is, right? Cancer. Some disease? The weight. The meds messing up your head, memory, something."

"Dean, I don't have cancer."

"Drugs? Gambling? Prostitution ring?"

Sam let out an aggravated sigh. "I'm not on drugs, and no, I don't have a gambling problem." He frowned. "Prostitution?"

Dean's face displayed his complete puzzlement. "What's the emergency? One of your psycho clients after you?"

That comment made Sam freeze. Did Dean know about his "charity" cases?

He could see that Dean thought he'd hit the jackpot the way his eyes lit up. "So you got some whack job on your case?"

"Something like that," Sam mumbled. He decided to leave the demon part out for now.

"And you didn't think about calling the cops? Trying to play hero?" Dean shook his head. "What's this got to do with me?" And suddenly Dean's face changed. He looked scared, his eyes dancing with an anxious fire, as he glanced over at the bedroom towards his family.

"No, not like that," Sam assured him. Or was it to assure himself? He lowered his voice when he saw Charlotte emerge with Timothy and Rebecca in tow. "I'll tell you as soon as it settles down."

Dean stared at him, but didn't argue the point.

"Sam." Charlotte offered a small smile as she glanced at the flat-screen TV. "Do you think it would be okay for the kids to watch one of their movies?"

"Oh, sure." Sam jumped to his feet and led them into the living room. He paused by the DVD player.

"Why're you asking? Just use it," Dean said, after throwing himself onto the couch. "He's the one that had us drag our asses out here for nothing."

"Dean!" Charlotte's eyes were livid.

"Fine. Drag our bums for nothing."

Sam let the comment go. He turned to reach out his hand for the DVD when he saw Rebecca take a hesitant step toward him, holding the DVD case in her hands. She slowly brought it to his fingers, her wide eyes watching his every move. When he took the case, she squealed and ran behind her mother.

Charlotte laughed and patted her head. While Sam was relieved to see the woman relax, he couldn't help but be confused. He glanced at Dean, a questioning look on his face.

"She thinks you're a giant," Dean explained.

Sam stared.

"Don't take it personally," Charlotte said. "She thinks there's a monster in your parents' clock."

The thought of a monster living in the house of two hunters made Sam chuckle until he realized where he was and how things had changed. He started to wonder if there really was a monster there, and they didn't know it.

"My frucks," Timothy said, coming to Sam and holding up an assortment of colored vehicles.

Sam wasn't sure what he was supposed to do or say, so he just nodded and held out one of his hands. Timothy plopped a navy blue pick-up into his palm.

"Trucks," Charlotte said. "Your _trucks_."

"He has trouble with some words," Dean told him.

"I can see that."

Sam regretted the retort right away, but whatever misgivings Dean had were interrupted by the start of the movie. Charlotte had eased in next to him, content as Dean slung his arm over her shoulder, while Rebecca squeezed between them, humming happily as she pointed to the logos on the screen. Dean opened his mouth, apparently about to call for Timothy, but the boy had other plans.

Timothy grabbed Sam's free hand and steered him toward the middle of the floor. The little boy plopped himself down in front of the TV and started to tug.

"Come watch," he said.

Sam looked down at Timothy. If ever he felt like a giant, it was now. The boy gazed at him with expectant eyes, the anticipation etched in his face. Sam knew he should do anything but sit down and watch a movie. He had a magic mirror to chase. He had a demon breaking seals. He had a life that needed reclaiming. Sam didn't have time for distractions.

The tug persisted, now with a sense of urgency; the movie was about to start.

"I don't get it," he heard Dean mumble. "Sees him twice a year and he's like a god."

Sam smiled despite himself.

They were twenty minutes into the movie - some story about talking bugs - when the phone rang. Sam excused himself and made his way to the kitchen, trying not to feel too guilty about leaving a saddened little boy behind.

He picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Sam? This is Patrick Shaker."

Sam's eyes widened. He covered the receiver for a moment and motioned to Charlotte and Dean that he needed to take the call. Dean looked mildly annoyed, but didn't protest. Sam didn't dare look at Timothy. He strode across the room to his study and eased the door shut, leaving it open just a crack, before he sat down in the chair at his desk.

"Hi," he said, offering his friendliest tone. "This is Sam Winchester. You recently bought an antique mirror from me?"

"What's with the formalities, Sam? Frantic calls. Distant attitude. Am I in that little black hit list book of yours now?"

Sam forced a smile. "No, just been a long day."

"Tell me about it. What can I do for you?"

"I feel silly for asking, but I'm starting to have some second thoughts about that mirror. I was wondering if you were willing to part with it?"

He heard a sucking sound, like a deep inhalation with no end, before finally he was greeted with a dejected sigh. "I'm sorry. I just sold that thing to a buyer on Long Island."

Sam grabbed onto the arm of the chair and clutched it hard. "What if I outbid your buyer?"

"Hey, you know you're one of my best clients and I'd do anything for you, Sam, but I have my integrity and reputation on the line here. She made a fair purchase and I can't take it away from her."

"You wouldn't be able to give me the name of the buyer? Maybe I can talk to her and see if we can make an arrangement."

He heard the hesitation and indecision in the silence that followed. "I don't know. Privacy law and all."

Sam forced a charitable laugh. "I think you know me well enough to know that I'm not going to run out and harass the woman."

The other man chuckled in return. "True. Look, how about this. The mirror ships out this weekend from New Bedford. So, when she receives the mirror, I'll give you the information so you can fly out there. She's a nice old lady and I'm sure she'd love the company."

Sam frowned. "New Bedford?"

"Oh, you know my man Charlie down at the wharf. Way cheaper to ship out of the wharf down there than trying to get anything out of the harbor up here. Well, if you know the right people," he said with a chuckle.

Sam laughed and wrote the name on his pad. "Where's Charlie located by the way? You mentioned shipping, and I realized I could throw the man some business."

"Oh, no problem. He's right there on the wharf. Building is 565, I think. Big red building. You can't miss it. I'll tell him you're coming by."

"Yeah," Sam scribbled down the location. "Probably not until next week when my schedule clears."

"He'll be happy either way."

"Thanks, Pat."

Sam said goodbye and ended the call. He grinned at the piece of paper in his hands. An address. He was going to grab that mirror and be done with this.

When he looked up, he saw Dean standing in the doorway.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Do you always listen in on people's conversations?"

Dean shrugged, but Sam already knew the answer. This Dean was no different than the one he had grown up with, not in that regard.

"Little obsessive," Dean said, picking at the doorknob. "For a mirror."

"I really need it," Sam said, knowing his voice sounded defensive.

"Yeah." Dean peered out into the living room before he glanced back at Sam. "Timmy's dying for you to get back. Wanted to pause the movie and everything."

Sam felt a twinge of guilt. Part of him really wanted to sit down and watch a movie with his "nephew." The thought sounded so strange, so normal, but almost comforting. He still wasn't sure what was happening, but he knew he had to fix it. He just didn't want to destroy everything else along the way.

Dean was waiting, and he didn't look happy. He let out a heavy sigh and slapped his thighs. "Come on, man. When you gonna be straight with me?"

And suddenly, all that guilt, all the lies and secrets he'd kept the past year hit him. He just wanted to be honest with Dean. That's all he ever wanted.

Sam realized if he ever was going to have a moment to talk to Dean, this was it. "I know this is going to be hard to understand." He took a deep breath. "I hunt things."

"You do not," Dean said matter-of fact. "You remember that time that Dad wanted to go deer hunting?" He puckered his face and whined, "'Oh no, you can't, poor Bambi.'" Dean snorted. "Right."

"You cried at Bambi, Daddy."

Sam and Dean turned their heads at the sound of the small voice. Rebecca was standing between the partially closed door and the frame, the traces of a big pizza sauce grin still on her face. She must have overcome most of her initial shyness, but Sam noticed her gaze would flicker to him every few seconds.

Dean shot a devastated look at his daughter. Then, after a quick recovery, he chuckled. "Daddy's having a private conversation. Scoot, kiddo. Go see Mommy." He pat her on the back to get her to move before he shut the door. Dean sniffed and shot a somewhat embarrassed look to Sam. "Never mind that."

Sam shook his head. "Whatever, Dean. But the truth is I hunt things. Supernatural things."

"Supernatural things?"

Sam nodded. "Monsters, ghosts, demons."

Dean stared at him. "You're serious."

"Yeah, and I can prove it to you."

"How you gonna do that?"

Sam took another deep breath. He hated to have to strike a defenseless Dean, but he promised himself he'd go easy on him.

Without warning, Sam reeled back and threw a punch.

Dean blocked him.

Momentarily stunned, Sam jumped back, but he quickly pushed the doubt from his mind and went to strike again. Just as before, Dean blocked the punch and went for his face.

Now Sam was on the defensive as Dean attacked. The two of them sparred, grabbing punching, kicking, sweeping - both of them using the tips and tricks their father taught them. For a few seconds, Sam thought he was lost in time, taken back years before, as he and Dean had lived out a similar mock challenge on the floor of his apartment. But that was another time, another life, and Sam pushed the thoughts from his mind as he went in for the kill.

Sam pinned Dean to the floor and looked down into his eyes. His brother started laughing. Sam had a sickening thought; what if Dean was a possessed? What if he was a demon? But as quickly as he thought of the notion, it was gone. Dean started to cough.

"I'm not that bad," he said in his own defensive. "I still got it."

"Got it?" Sam snorted. "I kicked your ass."

Dean muttered, and then gasped, but managed to force himself to sit. "Only cause I'm out of practice."

Sam shook off the excuse, but one question remained: How did Dean know all of the defensive and offensive moves their dad had taught them?

He felt his heart pound harder. "You remember--?"

"Remember?" Dean held out his hand and Sam pulled him to his feet. "Dude, I'm the oldest. Dad taught me first."

Now Sam was thoroughly confused. He pondered whether Dean had retained some memories of their former life, or if the mirror had warped everyone's memories. His last thought couldn't possibly work. Not with Dean having kids.

Dean must have read the confusion in his face. The edges of his face softened, replaced with worry and concern. Above all, Sam felt a twinge of guilt, of concealment, in his eyes. It was a look he remembered clearly from years ago, back on one dreary Christmas Eve.

Sam felt like he was eight all over again, desperate to know just what he was and what their family did. "Are we hunters?" he asked.

Dean bowed his head and grew quiet. Sam almost thought he was going to open the door and walk out. He didn't. After he paused by door -- Sam assumed he was making sure they were alone -- he looked back to Sam. "What's the matter with you?"

Sam wished he knew. He would give anything to figure his own way out of this mess.

"Are you having some crisis? You're way too young for that mid-life crap."

Sam kept his gaze locked on Dean and shook his head. He tried a different tactic. "Are you a hunter? Just answer me."

"What the hell is there to answer? You got amnesia? One of your celeb clients pump you with too much crack?"

"Dean, please. Humor me."

Dean sighed. "I left that years ago. Mom was having fits."

Sam just gave him a blank look. Time was supposed to be immobile, untouchable. Whatever happened, happened. The demon couldn't have changed Sam's past. This had to be something else. Sam needed to know more.

"You're supposed to know that," Dean said. "You're supposed to know a lot of things, but you don't."

"There's something wrong," Sam said.

"You're telling me. Something wrong with your head."

Dean whipped out his cell phone and started mumbling. Sam stared at him, aghast. "What are you doing?"

"I'm calling Dad," he muttered. "You've gone and lost it. He'll know what to do."

Sam charged up to him and ripped the phone out of his hands. Dean's expression wavered between a glare and pure astonishment, maybe even a hint of fear. Even here, Dean deferred to their father. Sam couldn't believe it.

"Dad taught us to fight. He wanted us to protect ourselves. Why?" Sam asked. "Why would he do that? Why would he need to do that if Mom is alive?"

Dean stared at him like he'd grown another head. While they looked at each other, speechless, Sam started to understand. He could see past the confusion in Dean's eyes, past the cloud of anger and doubt, to what he had begun to suspect all this time.

Mary was a hunter. No matter how hard she tried to run from that life, it would eventually catch up with her, just like it had done with Sam. Hunting wasn't escapable. Mary must have known this. Mary would have wanted her sons prepared, eventually, in case something were to happen.

That was all part of a life Sam had never known. As he looked deep into Dean's eyes, the cloud started to lift, and in that moment, he knew Dean understood as well.

"You're not my brother."

Dean's voice was level, but hard.

"No," Sam said quietly. "I don't think so."

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, angry. "Where's my brother?"

The questions ran like a ticker through Dean's eyes. Sam could see the fire smoldering just beneath. He wondered if Sam was a demon, a shapeshifter, or any number of creatures. But Dean, this Dean, was not the hunter his brother was, and lacked the resources, the speed, or the initiative to do anything. He hadn't even tried to use silver or holy water to check if Sam was something else.

Sam swallowed hard. That concerned him.

"I don't know what happened. Just hear me out, okay?"

Dean nodded, but his anger was already driving his body. He started to pace.

"I was living a different life. We both were. I woke up days ago living this life." He sucked in a deep breath. "This isn't right, Dean. None of this is right. We're supposed to be hunters."

"No," Dean said. "No, we aren't. What the hell you talking about?"

"I don't know if time has changed or if your memories have been altered or if I've been transplanted into some alternate dimension where everything is different." He shook his head, wishing Dean would open up to the possibilities. "Whatever happened, I don't belong here. I don't belong doing this."

"So, what? You're a walking Twilight Zone?"

Sam let out a nervous chuckle. Sometimes that's exactly how he felt.

"So, okay, so you're just Sam with different memories?" Dean nodded and rubbed his hands together, giving Sam the impression he was hatching some master plot. "We find something, fix you up, and you're normal again?"

Sam frowned. He didn't like Dean's use of the word normal.

"Dad'll know what to do. He knows a couple of people. Mom knows tons of people. Of course, they're on that cruise you bought for their anniversary, so don't know how much help they'll be…"

"Dean…"

He looked up.

"I already know what we have to do."

Dean groaned. "That mirror?"

Sam nodded. "Whatever happened it starts and ends with that mirror."

"Some kind of charm? Hex?" Dean asked, surprising Sam.

"I'm not sure yet," Sam said truthfully. "I just know that is what we need to fix everything."

"And we do this and your right memories come back?"

"Something will happen," Sam stressed. "I still don't know exactly what happened. I just know that the mirror will fix it."

That seemed enough to placate Dean for now. He nodded and composed himself, giving a side-glance to the door. "Not a word to Charlotte," he warned Sam.

Sam agreed. There was no need to drag anyone else into this.

"We'll need to leave. I know where to get the mirror."

A slight frown creased Dean's brow. "Leave?"

"Just a little over an hour south from here," Sam assured him. "We go in, grab the mirror, complete the incantation, and it's over." Sam wished their plans were that simple, but there was no sense in scaring off Dean. When he saw the anxiety hadn't ebbed, he realized Dean was concerned for a different reason. "I might not be the brother you remember, but I wouldn't put your family at risk," Sam said quietly. He handed Dean back his cell phone. "We're still brothers, just different."

No truer words had ever been spoken, he thought to himself.

His reassurances helped calm Dean. The weight on his shoulders seemed to lift; some of the spark returned to his eyes.

"Let's go, then."

The two exited the study and started for the door. As they passed the couch, Sam noticed that Rebecca and Timothy were on either side of their mother, but Charlotte didn't move to face them.

"Have a job?" she asked casually.

Dean froze by the door. "Uh, just going out for some…ice."

"Do me a favor and give me the common courtesy of being honest."

Dean looked to Sam.

"I just need to borrow Dean for a little while," he told her. "It shouldn't take more than a few hours."

She still didn't turn. Sam could tell by the stiffness to her shoulders that she was angry, possibly scared.

One of the small bodies stirred next to her. Rebecca's tiny hands poked over the top of the leather. "Come see, Daddy?"

Dean broke away from Sam and walked to the other side of the couch so he was facing his family. "Uncle Sam and I will watch it with you tomorrow. It'll be super special."

Sam saw their twinkling eyes mirrored in Dean's.

He stopped and leaned over Charlotte. "It'll be quick."

"I don't like it," she whispered. "The two of you shouldn't go. Something will go badly, I just know it."

Dean grinned and gave her a kiss. "Me and Sammy? We're invincible." When she didn't laugh he touched her face. "I'll call you. We'll be back soon. Just picking something up."

He gave her another kiss before giving his two kids a couple of kisses on their foreheads. Then, he turned to Sam, his face turning glum, as they exited the apartment.

They were just going to pick up the mirror, Sam assured himself as they walked to the elevator. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that came from Charlotte's warning, forced to carry it with him into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Sam followed Dean down the front steps, the question finally escaping his lips. "She knows?"

Dean nodded. "I met Charlotte when hunting a poltergeist, you know…no, you wouldn't know that," he finished with a sigh.

Sam felt a stab of guilt, but let the feeling subside.

When Sam and Dean exited the apartment building, Sam immediately looked for the Impala, surprised when he couldn't find it. A quick search led him past a few parked cars to Dean heading to the corner. His keys were already out and he was fumbling at the door of…a mini-van.

"Where's the Impala?"

Dean looked up from the side of the van. "Dad's car?"

Sam should have known. "Never mind."

They both climbed into the mini-van. As Dean started the car, Sam had a look around. There were various toys -- a stuffed bear, a few toy cars, and some children's books -- strewn across the carpeted rear seats. In the front, the passenger's side was pretty neat, though Sam thought he saw a few candy wrappers under Dean's feet.

The engine hummed as the van started, and suddenly all Sam could hear were the jubilant shouts of a kid's chorus singing.

Sam stared at the radio.

Dean averted his gaze, appearing mildly embarrassed. He jammed his finger onto a button and the tape popped out. "Could be worse," he said, flinging the tape in the back. "Last road trip was Barney 24/7."

Sam could not imagine Dean listening to Barney for even a minute with a straight face.

"There's a box under your seat. Grab it for me, will ya?"

Without argument, Sam did as he was told. Despite the differences between this and his other life, Sam had a good feeling what was in the box, a feeling that served as a light in the dark. He drew comfort from it.

Sam opened the box and smiled.

"Zeppelin," Dean told him. His right hand was extended, his fingers waving with impatience. Sam grabbed the tape and handed it to him.

"Your van is so high-tech it astounds me."

Dean slid in the tape and relaxed. Zeppelin started to rumble throughout the entire van. "I like to think of it as retro."

"CDs, Dean. Maybe you've heard of them?"

"My cassette tapes do just fine."

Sam shook his head, but couldn't keep from smiling. This was the best he'd felt since he'd woken up in this world.

The moment was fleeting, however, as Sam felt the pull back to his new mission. He couldn't waste time drowning in memories.

Dean seemed to read his mind. "So, where're we headed?"

"New Bedford. The wharf. But we need to stop somewhere first."

Dean eyed him suspiciously. "Where?"

* * *

The mini-van rolled into a parking space on the side of the street. Dean hunched over and peered out of the passenger side window past Sam. "I dunno. Place looks kinda sketchy."

Sam followed Dean's gaze. They had driven into the heart of Chinatown, stopping in front of a restaurant, where a young gang of teens hung out near the door. It didn't look any different than the dozens of places they'd visited over the course of their lives. Places like this shouldn't make Dean blink twice. Though Sam assumed that even if Dean had hunted for a little while, it wasn't enough to make much of a lasting impression.

"Don't worry," Sam said. "Just follow my lead."

"Because you do this sort of thing every day," Dean snapped in a whisper. He gave a pointed look at Sam's suit.

"Yes, I do. You're just going to have to trust me. Can you do that much?"

Dean glared at him. Finally, after a long pause, he threw the van in park and pocketed his keys. He looked outside again, this time squinting, as if he were trying to make sense of everything that happened. "Really?" he said. "A Chinese place is gonna help?"

"Let's go," Sam told him.

The two of them jumped out of the van. Sam had already started toward the restaurant when he realized he was alone. Concerned, he turned around, finding Dean by the van's side.

"Dean?"

Dean wasn't listening. He tugged at his shirt, letting it fall free from his belt, and started to unbutton the front. When he was finished, he rolled up his sleeves and ran his fingers back through his hair, causing some of it to stand on end.

"That's not going to make you look tougher," Sam said.

"Lose the suit jacket," Dean muttered.

Sam took off his suit jacket and tossed it in the back of the van. He, too, rolled up his sleeves, and joined Dean as they passed the teens on the sidewalk before entering the restaurant. He didn't miss Dean giving them a worrisome look.

The inside of the small restaurant was neatly organized with little tables and beautiful paintings on the walls. On the way to the counter, they passed a fountain where fish swam through the currents of the fountain pool.

"May I help you?" asked a small man behind the counter.

"Yeah, my name is Dean Winchester, and my brother here is--"

"Sam Winchester!" The man exclaimed and clapped his hands. "I have seen your picture in the papers."

Sam let out an uneasy laugh. He could see Dean scowling through the corner of his eye, but that didn't deter the man behind the counter. He motioned them closer before he pointed to the menu behind him.

"First time customer, I give you 10% off. Plus, an extra 10% for you."

"That's great," Sam said, "but we're actually here on business."

The light, jovial nature of the man was replaced with a cold, hard look. "Business?"

"I'm looking to make a purchase." Sam's gaze locked onto him.

The man's eyes were awash in fear, but he made no other outward sign of understanding what Sam meant.

Sam kept his gaze steady on the restaurant worker. "Randy Pinto sent me."

The man's eyes widened. Sam wasn't sure if it was just shock, distrust, or a mix of both. Whatever the case, Sam was prepared to show him a copy of a business transaction between the store and Randy Pinto if he couldn't get some cooperation. Becoming involved in the middle of a criminal investigation would do this man's reputation no good.

"Are…are you here for his case?" the man asked.

"No. I'm here to make my own purchase." Sam smiled.

If it were possible, the man's eyes widened further. Then, without a word, he scurried into the back kitchen and disappeared.

"What was that about?" Dean asked, the scowl still planted on his face.

"We can't just waltz into the building housing the mirror," Sam said. "We need to be prepared."

"I don't think I like where this is going…"

"You didn't think we'd just walk into a store, buy a mirror, and leave, did you?"

From the exasperated look on Dean's face, that was exactly what he was thinking. Sam was beginning to have doubts about taking Dean with him to retrieve the mirror.

The man came back from the kitchen with another, larger gentleman. They both regarded Sam and Dean for a moment before the larger man grunted and beckoned Sam to follow. Dean stepped forward to walk with him, but the smaller man shook his head.

"You stay here and order. Then bring your van around the back."

Dean gaped at him. He looked to Sam for some kind of assurance, but Sam was already being led into the back. He waved Dean on, hoping he got the signal to do as the man said, while he was taken past the kitchens for his transaction.

Sam said nothing as he passed several of the workers, likely family, working in the hot kitchen. The smell of fried rice, dumplings, pork and chicken filled the air. If he wasn't occupied and full from his meal earlier, Sam thought he might be enticed by the food here.

The large man ushered him behind a thick curtain. Sam stopped short.

The room was packed with every weapon he could imagine. One wall was covered from top to bottom with shotguns, pistols, antiques, and machine guns. Another wall had an assortment of knives, most of which Sam had never before seen, though he recognized a few different machetes and sickles. Yet another wall was decorated with all manner of trinkets, charms and amulets. Sam saw a big chest on the floor. He had no idea what was in there. He didn't think he wanted to know.

His eyes fell to an elderly Chinese man sitting next to an arrangement of charms.

"Sam Winchester?" he asked. "Sam Winchester, the attorney?"

Sam nodded.

"You trying to shift blame from your client to me?" When he narrowed his eyes, Sam felt the larger man move closer.

"No, I'm not here to discuss my client's case, which is confidential. I'm here as a paying customer."

The man arched his eyebrows. "Oh? Attorney Sam Winchester, hunter?"

Sam undid the buttons on his dress shirt and pulled it back to reveal his tattoo. The man blinked, amazed. Then, he nodded to the larger man, whom Sam assumed was his bodyguard, who in turn slipped out of the room.

"Sam Winchester. A hunter. I would never have known." He shook his head. "I only thought you represented our kind."

"I'm full of surprises," Sam said. "Now, I'd like to browse your collection."

Sam spent the next half hour going through the man's arsenal. He'd learned he was called "Big Chan," which served as his code name throughout Chinatown. Sam guessed even the restaurant name was a front.

By the time he was finished, Sam had purchased a few sturdy silver knives, three shotguns, several sidearms, a few rosaries and buckets of holy water to save time, shells and salt, and a few charms to be safe. Big Chan's bodyguard assisted him in taking the weapons around the back where Dean had parked the van. Dean was leaning against the side of the van, shoveling a heap of Chinese noodles drenched in light gravy into his mouth. When they emerged, he stopped, his face turning white.

"You're not putting that stuff in my van."

"No, we'll just tie it up on the luggage rack."

Dean scowled.

Sam ignored his brother's moody fit and urged him to come into the weapons' room. Dean kept glimpsing back at his van, like it was as precious as the Impala, which unnerved Sam more than he wanted to admit.

With a sigh, Dean finished off the lo mein and tossed the empty box in the trash. He followed Sam back to the rear of the restaurant. Once they were inside, he heard Dean whistle.

"Who is this?" Big Chan stood, his eyes narrowing.

"Just my brother." Sam waved to the weapons on the walls. "Pick a handgun and then we can go."

"You want me to get a gun?"

"Yes, come on, Dean. Just pick one."

Dean wandered over to the wall covered with guns and mulled over the selection. After a bit of indecisiveness, he reached over and picked a polished looking handgun, one that Sam found to have a striking resemblance to Dean's engraved gun in their other life.

Sam paid for the gun and walked with Dean to the van. He thanked Big Chan again and happened to glance at the sky. The stars snuffed out, overtaken by the storm clouds that rolled in from the bay. Just what they needed. Complications.

He sighed and settled into the passenger seat. Dean was already muttering to himself.

"We just bought illegal weapons from Mr. Myagi," Dean said. "And they're next to my kids' stuffed Big Bird."

Sam peered over the bucket seat. Sure enough, the yellow bird was resting against the covered side of a double-barreled shotgun. He tried not to recall his own memories, which includes books and toys next to his dad's own guns.

"So, we just go in, get this mirror, and it's going to be over?" Dean eyed him hopefully. "It's that simple?"

Sam nodded, though deep in his gut he knew it was never that simple.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Getting out of the city proved to be a quiet affair. Dean remained focused on finding the right streets to hit the highway, while Sam clicked on the overhead light to go over his notes and the map that Dean kept stashed in the dashboard. Sam blocked out the noise of the city around them, trying his best to make connections based on the scribbles and snatches of information he'd gathered over the past few days.

He needed to figure out what the connection was between the angels and the demon sent to break the seal. The demon seemed to have known this would happen. How would changing his life history help break the seals? Were the demons desperate enough to try to rewrite his life so he wouldn't come after Lilith?

The idea was ridiculous. Sam had retained all of his memories.

There was the chance that the demon had targeted Dean, needing his memories erased, and plopped them both into a different kind of history.

He looked to Dean. His brother was hunched over the wheel, muttering some curses in the general direction of the cars blocking his way.

That notion seemed even more ridiculous to Sam. Dean might be a great fighter, but Hell had changed him, and Sam couldn't see what worth he would be to any demon at this point, if ever. There had to be something else he was missing. He just wished Ruby had been more forthcoming.

Sam hadn't ruled out he was trapped in some kind of fantasy or extensive hallucination. He tried not to dwell on this possibility so much, maybe out of fear of what could be happening to those outside of the fantasy. For all he knew, he was lying in a coma somewhere with Dean dead and the seals popping open one by one.

Castiel's role in this nightmare made the least sense. Sam was sure he had seen a glimpse of the angel. Was Castiel trying to teach him a lesson like he had done to Dean? Why would he choose to intercede at the most inopportune time?

None of that linked to the seals.

Sam sighed. If only he had somewhere to turn, someone to shed some light on his situation.

Once they hit the highway, Sam noticed that Dean had started to fidget in his seat. He kept glancing over to Sam, to the papers in his lap, and back to the road. If Sam were to guess, he figured that Dean was more than curious as to what Sam's plans were. The look of concern and guilt was one that Sam knew all too well. He'd watched his brother carry it for years. Still, he gave Dean credit. He was holding back with considerable restraint.

But that restraint wouldn't last forever.

"So…"

Sam shuffled his notes. "So?"

Dean opened his mouth to talk, closed it, opened it again, and then closed it. He kept his gaze focused on the highway and through the light rain that had started to fall.

"What?" Sam asked. "What do you want to say?"

Dean shook his head. "This is nuts."

"Look, Dean. I'm as spooked about this as you are. I awoke to a life I never had. I was in the middle of a job when everything changed."

"A job." Dean let out a nervous chuckle. "Right."

"I know it's hard for you to understand. I don't understand it myself. But I'm a hunter, Dean, and so are you."

"No," Dean said firmly. "No, you went to Stanford. You graduated and went to law school and now do lawyerly things."

"You can try to convince yourself all you want, but you said it yourself. You know I'm different."

The word different used to sting, but Sam didn't feel isolated by it anymore. He had learned to use it as an asset, to empower himself with that word.

Dean flinched.

His response troubled Sam. "What? Do you know something?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing."

"Dean…"

"I said nothing." And that was it. His voice was firm and he said no more.

Sam threw himself against the back of the bucket seat and scowled. This was getting him nowhere. He knew that if he were to comprehend what happened to him, he needed to have a better understanding of what this life entailed. He needed to know what went wrong, what branched onto a different course. He needed concrete clues. Dean could provide that link for him.

"What…" Sam stopped, trying to find a way to word his question without sounding completely insane. He knew there wasn't. He sighed. "Was there ever a fire in my nursery?"

He saw Dean's face twist, the lines deepening as he shot Sam a quick, troubled look before he centered back on the wet highway.

"Was there?"

"What kind of question is that?" Dean asked, clearly exasperated.

"I'm guessing no. Mom and Dad are alive."

The concern in Dean's face flirted with a flash of fear. "You make it sound like they're dead."

"In my world they are," he said quietly.

Dean stared at him, eyes wide. "So, what? You're fantasizing about Mom and Dad biting the bullet?"

"It's not a fantasy. I'm not sick, Dean."

"Oh no? This whole thing is sick." He shook his head as he stared ahead. "They got shrinks for this kinda thing. You're loaded. I bet you could get Lindsay Lohan's head doctor."

"I'm not crazy," Sam said, his voice even. "And I'm not high, so don't go there. You're the one that thinks my memories are warped. Why don't you tell me what happened to see if it jogs something loose?"

"What? You want me play _This Is Your Life_? Come on, Sam."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Hell, yeah. We turn around and get you some help the right way instead of chasing down magic mirrors."

"You wouldn't be with me right now if you didn't think there was some truth to what I'm saying."

Dean sighed. "What've gone and done to yourself, Sammy?"

The heartache in his voice was so acute that Sam lost track of his whereabouts and thought he was staring into the disappointed face of his brother. The pain snuffed out quickly as he grounded himself. He didn't understand why it was so hard to separate himself from whatever reality he was experiencing.

Dean knew that Sam wasn't his brother, but for some reason he couldn't accept it. Sam needed him to accept it so they could figure out how to fix everything.

"What happened?" Sam asked. "You said you used to be a hunter? When was that? How long ago?"

Dean didn't respond right away. He flipped the power on the windshield wipers up a notch to match the steady rain. They had completely cleared the city and were traveling south. Sam knew that they had a good hour before they reached their destination. Now was as good as any time to talk.

"I started hunting a couple years out of high school," Dean finally said. "After I'd been working at the shop for a bit." He glanced at Sam. "You know, the family business."

Sam said nothing.

"Mom thought it was a waste," Dean continued. "Dad didn't think so. Hell, it was all Mom's idea to have us trained in the first place."

Sam frowned. "Really?"

"Yeah. She was always afraid somethin' was gonna happen, somethin' was gonna break in. She taught us some lore and some moves, and had Dad break out some of his training from the Marines."

The reasoning made sense. Sam figured if his mom had stayed alive parts of her past would eventually catch up to her. She'd want her sons to be prepared. Unless she knew something was going to happen. She could have learned about Azazel. There were so many possibilities.

"I went to college."

"Yeah."

Sam had been dreading asking this question since he'd first seen her picture on his desk. Now was the time to ask it; he knew he wouldn't have another chance.

"What happened my senior year?"

Dean fell silent. That told Sam all he needed to know.

"Jessica's dead."

Dean nodded.

"How?" But Sam already knew the answer.

"Uh…fire," Dean said quietly.

Sam looked away and clenched his jaw. The rain was coming down hard and fast; he saw the lightning fork the sky in the distance.

He had been a coward. He'd never even tried to avenge her death.

"Yellow Eyes," Sam muttered.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Dean stiffen. His brother's recognition at the name drew him from his rumination. Sam turned and frowned.

"You know Yellow Eyes?" Then it dawned on Sam. "You fought him."

"I don't wanna talk about it."

Sam couldn't imagine Dean facing Azazel. Dean looked like he could barely work a gun.

"Did you kill him?"

"I said I didn't want to talk about it."

"But this could be important."

"How?" Dean shot him an aggravated look. "How is that gonna fix your head?"

"I'm not a head case, Dean. In my memories, Mom died in a fire. Jessica died the same way. Dad taught us everything he knew. We're hunters. This is what we do."

"You've really gone off the reserva--"

"Don't," Sam warned.

Dean muttered something under his breath that Sam couldn't hear. Sam thought maybe Dean was just going to drop the conversation, but when he glanced to his left, he could see the frustration building in his face as his temple started to throb.

"All right, so what does anything of this prove, huh? That you'd want to make our lives a living hell? 'Cause that's sure what it sounds like."

"Our lives are hell."

Dean shook his head. "Right. You're just freakin' Alice jumping through the Looking Glass."

Sam sat straighter. "What did you say?"

Dean blinked. "What?"

"Looking Glass." Sam mulled over the words. He had already considered the idea of an alternate world, one made from divergent points in his past. Different choices, different outcomes. He had never taken the idea too seriously; it seemed too simple, too easy. Yet, even he couldn't ignore all the lore on mirrors. Maybe he'd been approaching this all wrong.

What if the mirror wasn't used for divination? What if people had been using the Mirror of Solomon to look at different realities to assist in their own decision-making?

Sam had a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach.

"I think I traveled to another reality."

He saw Dean stealing worried glances between his focus on the road. "Alternate realties? Come on, dude."

"I don't get how that works as a seal. That doesn't make any sense."

Unless they were trying to get rid of him. The demons wanted him gone. He must be getting close to Lilith.

"You're serious?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "I don't know what's happening, but it's as good a theory as any."

"So, if you're some other…" Dean blew through his lips and rolled his eyes, "_Sam_, then where the hell's my brother?"

"With…my brother."

The rush of anxiety was upon Sam again. If he'd switched places with his doppelganger, Dean and his other self could be in serious trouble. This world's Sam wouldn't be prepared to take on a demon, and if he survived his encounter with it, he'd have to help Dean immediately. His heart sank. What mess had he left in his own world?

Sam turned to Dean. "Would I be able to take on a demon?"

"A demon?"

Sam nodded. "In all the training Mom and Dad gave us, would I have been able to fight a demon?"

"What the hell is there to fight? You get away from those things as fast as you can, unless you got the--"

"The Colt," Sam finished for him. So, Dean did know about the Colt.

Dean averted his gaze and muttered to himself again. "You're so damn secretive how am I supposed to know? I only see you at holidays."

It bothered him that in this place, he and Dean had drifted, but he supposed if they had no one single goal, if they had lived different lives, distance was bound to happen. Even now, in his own life, he and Dean had drifted, and he didn't know to bring them back. He sometimes thought it had been just a passing fancy. Maybe this was who they really were -- strangers.

Perhaps Dean was thinking the same thing, but that wasn't what made the fear spark in his eyes.

"Wait. You were fighting a demon when this poofy switch happened?" He swallowed hard. "But I'm a hunter, right? In…wherever?"

Images of Dean on the cold antique floor dead in a pool of his own blood assaulted him. He couldn't tell this Dean. He just couldn't.

"If I'm not hallucinating or stuck in some crazy dream, then there's a good chance your brother is stuck in a situation way over his head. We need to find that mirror. The sooner we do, the sooner you can get your real brother back."

Dean's face was puckered with thought, filled with anxiety, concern, and fear. Sam could tell he was considering Sam's theory more seriously than he had done before. Slowly, he nodded, and Sam caught a noticeable shift in his eyes, in his tone. Sam wasn't sure what it was, but it seemed like a giant weight had been lifted off Dean's shoulders.

He turned to Sam. "What do I got to do?"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

As they moved out of the suburbs of Boston, Sam explained his plan. They would break into the warehouse on the wharf, grab the mirror, and then try to invoke the incantation. He left out the blood part for now. First he needed to know if Dean could handle himself in a fight.

"I'm not bad. I can fight. You wanna see me fight? I can fight right now."

"Can you use a gun?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Of course I can. I'm not an idiot."

"Well, you look a little rusty."

"I'm not rusty." Dean snorted with indignation. "Just because I haven't been hunting in a few years doesn't mean I can't work a gun."

Sam shifted in his seat. "A few years?"

"When I got married, we decided no guns. Mom blessed the house anyway."

"Blessed?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, we got charms all over the house. Defensive stuff."

Sam leaned back and considered what Dean had told him. He was beginning to think Dean was inflating his hunter experience to impress. He wouldn't put it past Dean to do something like that, but it hurt Sam's attempts to organize a coherent game plan. If Dean hadn't hunted in years, and had only limited exposure after high school, then Dean was pretty much an amateur. No way could he have faced Azazel. Not like this.

"How do you get rid of a ghost?" Sam asked.

Dean peeked at him before returning to the road. "You're testing me?"

"How do you get rid of a ghost?"

"Salt and burn the remains."

Sam nodded. "Okay, what are signs of demons?"

He heard Dean let out a heavy sigh. "Sulfur, black smoke -- What the hell is this?"

Sam broke off from his conversation with Dean and peered out of the windshield. Ahead, the cars had started to slow into a crawl and finally to a stop. From what Sam could tell, traffic was backed up for miles.

They didn't need this right now.

"Gotta be an accident," Dean said. He motioned to the red and blue lights flashing in the distance. "People drive like maniacs in the rain. They ever heard of hydroplaning?"

Sam just stared at him.

"Dammit. I wanted to be home to see my kids to bed."

While the words were spoken out of frustration, they hit Sam with a biting guilt just the same. Now that the shock of seeing Dean and his family had subsided, the reality of what he was doing started to emerge. Dean had a family. He had a life. He had a wife and kids he loved.

And Sam had ripped him from them in a quest to find his old life.

"I'm sorry," Sam managed to say.

"Sorry? It's not your fault. The universe is just seriously screwed up."

Sam nodded in agreement, but deep down he knew he couldn't escape the truth.

He suddenly felt even more alone than before. If he truly were trapped in an alternate world, he wondered how his other self was coping. He wondered what Dean thought, if he could tell the difference, if he was even alive.

Dean seemed to sense his tension, and surprised Sam by clapping him on the shoulder. "Let's just listen to some tunes."

Dean had become more relaxed after they talked. Maybe knowing that the craziness he was experiencing wasn't his reality had softened him, taken away some of the guilt he seemed to be carrying. Sam wasn't sure what to think. Dean, alternate reality or not, seemed much more comfortable rolling with a virtual stranger than his own brother.

While Sam watched the dead traffic ahead, Dean fiddled with the knobs. They'd already cycled through Zeppelin and Metallica. By the time they were heading for AC/DC, Dean seemed to have noticed Sam's annoyance and had just shut the radio off instead. Now, he was desperately searching for any local classic rock stations.

The radio popped in and out, a loud static filling the airwaves. Dean hit the dashboard twice, like it would help, before he swore and tried again. Sam noticed the backlights of the cars ahead of them start to flicker.

Sam stiffened. He knew what this was.

Without a word, he lurched from his seat and reached his arms back into the van. He grabbed a small bag, reached into it, and pulled out one of the charms he'd bought from Big Chan.

"Here. Put this on." He handed Dean a cord with a small medallion at the center. "This'll protect you from demons."

"I'm not wearing that."

Sam shoved it in his hand, not wanting to hear any vapid excuse. "This is serious, Dean. Put on the charm."

Dean hesitated, but did as he was told. He kept frowning as he watched Sam take out salt and holy water. "Why don't you get a charm?"

"I have a tattoo," Sam told him.

Dean made a face, but to Sam's surprise kept his snarky comments to himself.

"We need to get out of here." Sam peered out of the windshield and looked up. The storm clouds were swirling, dark and heavy, but he couldn't tell if they were from the rain and thunder, or from an approaching demon army. He had no intention of sticking around to find out.

"Get into the breakdown lane and floor it."

Dean gaped at him. "Are you cracked?"

"Dean."

"Breakdown lane. As in cars broken down. We'll get creamed if anyone's in there."

"We have to take that chance. Believe me, the alternative isn't pretty."

"Cops! I could get pulled over."

"Dean, don't. Seriously, we have far worse problems than a cop ticketing you."

Dean mulled over what Sam told him. Finally, he sighed and nodded. With what Sam heard as a distinct curse in his general direction, Dean pulled the mini-van out of the right lane and started down the breakdown lane. The clouds above churned harder, faster, more violent.

"Faster," Sam told him.

"Dude, I'm in the breakdown lane."

"Dean, if you want to see your wife and kids again, you'll go faster."

His brother's face darkened at what Sam realized sounded like a real threat. Dean shoved his foot down on the accelerator.

The mini-van bounced and ground over the grooves that lined the breakdown lane. The cars to their left and the trees to their right passed in a streaking blur, blinking in and out, as Dean steered the rocking van through the chaos. The rain pelted the roof and hood so hard it sounded like rocks until Sam realized golf ball sized hail rained down on them.

Then the sound of sirens wailed behind them.

"Crap," Dean mumbled.

"Keep going," Sam said.

"What?"

"Keep going. Take this exit and do whatever you can to lose them."

"Sam…"

"Do it!"

Dean muttered something about the things he does for his brother, before he swerved to the right. He nearly launched the van out of the breakdown lane into the woods, but steadied the steering in time to even out. He zoomed past the stopped cars and barreled toward the exit. There were already some cars that had taken the exit. Dean remained in the breakdown lane even on the exit and bypassed them and their angry honking. The sirens continued to chase them.

He took a hard right. A stuffed purple Barney sailed over Sam's head, though neither of them stopped to move it. They were speeding down a four-lane road, two lanes in each direction. Angry drivers cursed at them as Dean maneuvered the van in and out of traffic, weaving through the cars.

Dean took the van off the main road onto one of the side streets. The sirens still followed behind them, somewhat muffled by the thunder that broke out around them. Despite the speed Dean was pumping into the van, he noticed he'd slowed now that they were in a residential area. He took a left, a right, and two lefts.

Sam thought he was doing remarkably well for someone so terrified of breaking the law.

"Had practice with this?" Sam asked with a smile.

"Shut up," Dean muttered.

Sam chuckled. "Keep heading south. I still hear the sirens, but we can't risk getting back on the highway if the traffic is still backed up."

Dean didn't protest this time. He kept changing up his direction, taking random turns, weaving in and out of traffic, while attempting to find the more secluded parts of the town.

As Dean did his best to lose the cops, Sam had his cell phone out and was looking up the nearest hotels and businesses.

They turned down an old dirt road, now muddy from the heavy rain and hail. Sam saw a lightly forested piece of property looming to their left.

"There," Sam said, pointing to the woods. "Drive in there and get prepared to run."

Dean turned onto a shoddy stony road and shot Sam a nervous glance. "We're running?"

"We'll never make it to the wharf in this van. The cops will be on us at any time. The woods will give us some cover." Sam slid out of his seat and grabbed the weapons they'd packed in the rear of the van. "We're going to have to hide your van and steal a car."

"Steal a car?" Dean asked, aghast. They grunted as they hit a large pothole. Elmo started to laugh in the back. "I'm already going to jail as it is."

"Dean and I have been caught by the cops a half dozen times."

"Super. Real badge of honor."

"I'm sure your brother has enough connections to get you out of this." Sam saw a clearing ahead and pointed. "Stop. Get ready to go."

Dean reluctantly slammed the van into park. After Sam nodded, he grabbed one of the bags and bolted. The two of them charged through the rain-soaked brush, leaving the van behind them.

Running through the woods during a lightning storm wasn't the brightest plan. The alternative was unacceptable.

The two of them darted through the woods. Sam tried not to focus on how hard Dean was breathing or think about the state of his fitness. They just had to make it out of the woods and find a car as quickly as possible. The mud would leave definitive tracks to trace. He knew they had little time to grab a car before the cops were on them.

He frowned as they passed a couple of dead squirrels. And then three more. Dead birds. Dead possum.

Dean frowned with him.

They broke the clearing and were running onto the back of someone's property. They slowed and edged around the yard and past the house, not wanting to attract any more attention to themselves. They made it onto the street and rushed down to the next intersection.

The rain continued to fall. Sam shivered, feeling the chill of the night and the rain that soaked his clothes. He and Dean kept up their pace, regardless, and kept hurrying to the center of town. He used his phone as a GPS; they needed a car fast.

"Here," Sam said. He crossed to a shabby looking motel. In the parking lot rested several cars.

Dean looked miserable.

Sam ignored his sulking brother and searched the cars, trying to make a quick decision on which would do. He crossed the lot and found a suitable one -- old, but not too old, and it looked reliable.

He reached into his bag and grabbed the tools he'd bought at Big Chan's. Within a couple of minutes, he'd jimmied the lock and hotwired the car. They tossed the weapons in the trunk and took off.

"I don't wanna know how you know how to do that."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "I think you know the answer."

Dean's cheeks reddened. "Yeah."

The Oldsmobile hummed down the street. Sam told Dean to keep driving on one of the main streets through town and to be on the lookout for the cops just in case. He thought hiding in plain sight would work for them better at this point.

Sure enough, the police were everywhere. If they could make it a couple of towns over and then pick up the highway again, they might buy enough time before the car was discovered stolen and they would have to change cars again. By then, he and Dean should have the mirror in hand. They would worry about the consequences later.

He tried hard not to think how much he'd already ruined their lives.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

It wasn't until a good twenty minutes later that either of them had started to relax. They kept changing between main roads and back roads, careful not to look too suspicious. They couldn't keep inside cities and towns for the entire trip. Sooner or later, Sam knew they had to get back on the highway.

"We're going to jump highways soon. We probably should make sure we're ready before we get to the wharf."

They had stopped on an old country road on the outskirts of a dying city. The rundown buildings in the far distance told their own stories of glory days past. In many ways, Sam thought he was looking at the ruins of a once glorious place, one that had fallen under its own weight and pride.

Sam looked to Dean, who leaned back and breathed out. He looked exhausted.

"We're so screwed," Dean said.

Sam wanted to tell him it would work out fine in the end, but he wasn't about to start giving out false promises. Telling him it would be over soon was the best he could muster.

He knew they were being hunted. The closer they moved toward the wharf, the heavier the sky became. It wasn't just the weather. There was something distinctly ominous to the sky, the earth, and everything around them. Sam didn't know at this point whether it was the demon he'd encountered in the antique shop or if it were another demon trying to get in on the action. Either way, he took the demonic omens as a sign he was on the right track.

If demons were out to get him, then Dean would need to be prepared as much as possible.

"It's not going to be easy," Sam warned him. He looked up at the sky. The billowing clouds of black smoke were absent, but the storm clouds continued to build. "We must be on the right track if demons were following us."

"Because that's exactly what I hoped for on this trip." Dean sighed. He opened the car door and both he and Sam took out their weapons to give them a hearty check. "It's like I can't escape hunting."

"Neither could I," Sam said as he rolled out their arsenal. "It has a way of catching up with you."

"Jessica?"

Sam lifted his head at her name. He saw that Dean was checking one of the shotguns. Sam was a little unnerved how he was holding it.

"I wanted to go after the thing that killed her, yeah."

"That's so like you. If Mom hadn't flipped about you -- well, the other you -- dropping out of college, I'm sure you'd have picked up hunting full-time."

Sam straightened. This was news to him. "I--your brother dropped out?"

"Almost. Mom pulled the old 'I'm disappointed' card and said something about it wasn't what Jessica wanted. So I figure that's why you stayed in school." He shrugged.

That actually made sense. Suddenly, Sam felt a whole lot better. "What about you?" he asked. "Why did you get into this? Why did you quit?"

"Mom was afraid something was gonna come after us, which I always thought meant you," he said pointedly. "But she thought the best way to stay safe was keep a low profile. Dad thought nailing the sucker head-on was the best way to protect the family." Dean paused, stopping to stare at the handgun he'd chosen. "I went with him."

Sam didn't have to imagine what that must have looked like. He had lived that life so often -- watching his dad and brother go out on a hunt -- to come back with that euphoric high that had only depressed him. He had felt more like a freak on those days, wanting nothing more than to escape.

He wondered if that was what his mom had felt like in this life, knowing full well what her husband and son were facing.

"So, what? You met Charlotte and settled down?"

"Something like that," he muttered.

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"I knocked her up."

Sam blinked with surprise. "What?"

"Don't get me wrong. I love her. It takes work, but we're good." He blinked and shook his head. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

Sam knew. There was something comforting in talking so openly. They both knew that when this was over, and the swap was made, it would be like it never happened.

"Anyway, she had a nasty poltergeist in her house, and she was grateful." A sloppy grin spread across Dean's face. "_Very_ grateful."

Sam sighed. Even here Dean was a pervert.

When Dean didn't continue, Sam jumped in. "Let me guess. Mom pulled the disappointed card on you, too."

"Oh, you shouldn't hunt," he said, his voice drawn out into a whine. "You have a family. You have to think about them."

"Well, she's right. Family comes first."

"I know. I quit. End of story."

Sam knew it wasn't the end of the story. Something else must have happened. He knew Dean, any Dean, well enough to see right through him.

He decided not to press the issue right then. Dean was already shuffling through the rest of the items Sam had bought, running them through his hands with both disdain and idle curiosity.

Sam did the same. He made sure all the guns were loaded with ammo, the holy water was ready for use, and that they were stocked with salt. Once he was done, Sam stood back and scanned their arsenal. It wasn't the best, but it would have to do.

They both fell quiet after that as they finished their preliminary weapons check. Dean seemed lost in thought, as if he wanted to ask something, but didn't know how to approach Sam.

It seemed odd -- both the awkward silences and the normal conversations they were having. Dean was so much like his brother, but also a stranger in many ways. He didn't understand how he could feel both comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. Judging by the tension in Dean's face, Sam knew he felt the same.

And it was in that common ground they found reassurance.

Both Sam and Dean packed up the weapons and stashed them back in the trunk. When the time came, they would be ready. Now, they just needed to make it to the wharf.

It wasn't until they were back at the front of the car that Dean spoke.

"So, what exactly am I here for?"

Sam frowned, though he started to feel queasy. "What do you mean? We're going to get that mirror and set things right."

"You don't think I can't see through you? You might not be my brother, but you're close enough. What's the real reason you nabbed me for this gig? You could have grabbed that mirror all on your own. What won't you tell me?"

Sam sighed. He knew this moment would come. He just hadn't figured it would come like this.

"The mirror is activated by blood. It can only be undone and closed with the blood from the person that opened it."

Dean's eyes widened. He didn't need this one spelled out for him. "It's my blood."

"I need it to make the mirror work. That's all."

"And you were gonna tell me when?" Dean's face grew dark. "When I'm cut and bleeding out?"

Some of the warmth he'd felt just moments ago began to evaporate. "No, no. Come on, you know it's not like that."

"Mind sharing?"

"I promise you that nothing is going to happen to you. I just need a small sample and then I can get back to my brother and you can get back to yours." His voice quieted. "It's not like I could have asked you over the phone."

Dean snorted. "Suppose not."

And that was it. None of the anger, none of the pain, none of the hurtful and distrustful glares that Dean had been giving him for the past few months. Sam relaxed and smiled. For the first time in a long time, he felt like Dean trusted him.

They both opened the doors to the Oldsmobile and were about to climb in when Dean's cell rang. He frowned, looked down, and pulled the phone from his pocket. Sam leaned against the side of the car, between the open door and inside of the passenger side seat, watching.

"Hey, Char," Dean said. He gave a shrug to Sam. "What's up?"

Dean's vague surprise at the call shifted to dark concern. "The van's on the news?" he asked aloud for Sam's benefit. Then he let out a nervous chuckle. "Like we'd dump the van and steal a car."

Sam shifted his weight. If the police and news stations were broadcasting their actions on the highway, they didn't have much time left to get to the wharf. Hating to do this to Dean, he walked over to the driver's side of the car and moved to take the phone. He stopped when he saw Dean's face drain to a ghostly white.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Stay inside," he said into the phone. "Don't go out. Don't open the door. Lock everything now."

Dean's face never retained its color. Sam moved around him impatiently. "What?"

"Everything's black," Dean said, his voice shaking. "Charlotte...she says the city's gone black."

Sam felt his own strength begin to wane.

"There's screaming and gunshots and hissing."

"Dean, tell her to salt the doors, windows, any opening. She needs to take the kids and get into a room and stay there. Double salt. Anything."

"I know." Dean stiffened. "Charlotte? Salt everything. Yeah. The doors, the windows, the vents. Whatever you can."

Dean began to pace. Sam's anxiety rose with every step he took.

"No, I don't know what's going on," he said to her. "Just do that and hunker down together. Kids asleep? Ah." He nodded. "Okay, put her on."

Dean turned his back to Sam and kept his pacing. Sam wished there was something he could say to reassure him, but he had the sinking feeling that this disaster extended far past just an enchanted mirror.

"Hey, pumpkin," Dean said, his voice strained as feigned cheerfulness entered it. "Not giving Mommy a hard time, right? Good." He glanced at Sam and offered a weak smile. "Brushed your teeth? Okay. Now be good for Mommy and your brother. I'll be home when you get up, okay?" He breathed out. "Sleep tight and remember, angels are watching over you."

Sam jerked at the familiar words and stared at Dean. He was talking in hushed tones to Charlotte now, likely reassuring her everything would be okay in the end. He snapped the phone shut and when he noticed Sam was watching, the nervous smile returned.

"Becky won't go to sleep unless I say that." He paced for a moment, restless hands scrubbing his scalp, and with a final shake of his head, he marched to the car. "I have to go back."

Sam caught him by the scruff of his collar and pulled him away from the door. "Dean, we can't go back. We have to finish this."

"To hell with your stupid mirror! My family's in trouble. They need me." He wrestled against Sam, pushing and shoving to try to get to the door. Sam matched his every step and pounded him against the back doors.

"I understand. I understand more than anything."

"What do you understand?" Dean asked bitterly. "My family's alone and scared. They could die, Sam. _Die_."

"I was ripped away from my brother in the middle of a fight against a demon, a bloody battle that went all wrong." Sam steeled himself, but he couldn't stop the emotion from surging in his voice. "He could be dead."

They stood, nose to nose for some time, without speaking. The anger in Dean's eyes started to subside, not completely, but enough for Sam to know his rage had ebbed. In its place was the root of it all: a deep biting fear and concern that made Sam feel even worse.

"None of this would have ever happened if the mirror hadn't activated," Sam said. "I need your help to make it right. The demons will come after me. If I'm gone, you and your family will be safe. Get it?"

Dean shrugged off Sam's grip with an angry jerk and walked away from the car. "I get it."

The anger still lingered in his face, though Sam knew it was more for show than anything else. Dean searched him for a long, hard moment, before he shook his head again.

"You'd trade all of this? The fancy parties, the TV coverage, the celebrity clients, Paris Hilton -- all to go back to no family and hunting?"

Sam nodded. "This isn't my life. Hunting is what I do now, and I always have my brother."

Though, Sam often wondered if he really could count on Dean anymore.

"Okay," Dean finally said. "I guess--"

A loud crash reverberated through the lone road. Before either one could say anything, Sam noticed the road crack behind them and widen into an extensive gap. With a pop and fizzle, a stream of steam and gas erupted from the abyss and shot towards the sky like an overheated geyser.

A rattled howl pierced the sky.

"We've got to go," Sam said, as he tugged Dean back toward the car.

That's when the assault began.

It started with one little thump, then another, and another. Sam searched the dark roadway, struggling to find the source of the sounds. The only light came from the sputtering geyser, but even it's misty light was swallowed by the growing blackness. He heard a loud belching noise on the ground.

Sam and Dean looked down to find two frogs hopping by their feet.

Dean gaped at Sam. "Don't tell me it's raining--"

Dean shielded his head as the thumps pummeled them. Soon, the air was filled with the hums and croaks of frogs and toads.

Sam nudged him to the car and jumped into the passenger's seat. He thought about driving himself, but if they were experiencing what he thought they were, he might need to keep a lookout and prepare to fight as Dean navigated the roads.

"Dean!" he called.

Dean slid into the driver's side and managed to get the car started. The smack and splatter of unsuspecting frogs slammed into the hood above them. Dean jumped as two smashed into the windshield.

"Can you drive through it?" Sam asked, feeling sick as one of the dead frogs slid down the slope of the windshield, leaving a trail of blood and guts behind.

Dean stared ahead. Worried he might be in shock, Sam gave his shoulder a shake. "Dean?"

"Dude, it's raining frogs!"

Sam bit back the retort and just nodded. "Do you think you can make it?"

Slowly, Dean nodded and brought the car back onto the road. Sam tried to relax his shoulders, even though he knew the tension wouldn't cease. He glanced briefly into the rearview mirror as he leaned back into his own seat to look once more at the geyser.

Castiel sat in the rear, his mouth moving wordlessly.

Sam jumped and spun around, twisting his body in the seat. The back was empty.

"What!" Dean exclaimed. "Is there something in the car?"

"I saw Cas," Sam breathed.

Dean looked at him like he had two heads. "What-who's Cas?"

Sam turned to him and tried not to let his momentary astonishment show. "He's an angel."

"No such--" Dean didn't even bother to finish. "You know angels?"

"Yeah." Though as far as Sam was concerned, they were worthless if they wouldn't actually show themselves for more than a few seconds to help.

"Angels are good. They can help us, right?"

"If they want to," Sam murmured.

Dean frowned. "Highway?" he finally asked. Sam got the impression Dean wanted to avoid the conversation as much as he did.

Sam nodded.

Dean stomped on the accelerator and bolted down the road. As they disappeared into the rolling dark fog, Sam blocked out the sound of tires crunching the bones of the frogs and stared into the night.

* * *

As they sped down the last stretch of highway, Sam and Dean listened intently to the news reports poring over the local radio stations. Even though Sam suspected what was happening, he still couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Police urge you to stay in your homes…Hospitals are overrun with the sick and dying…Unknown plague hits New York…"

Dean glanced at the radio. "What is this? The Apocalypse? On speed?"

"Sounds like it," Sam said quietly.

Plagues. Burning oceans. Dried up rivers. Total darkness. They were all happening, all at once. That could only mean that all the seals were broken. Lilith had won. He had failed.

And worse, he'd brought the end of times to this world. He wasn't sure how it worked, but the guilt weighed deeply on him, only strengthening the closer they traveled to the docks.

"I can't reach Mom and Dad," Dean muttered, pocketing his cell. "They're still on that cruise you got 'em for their anniversary, and reception sucks."

Sam looked out the window. Snatches of light whizzed by them, trying to poke out of the darkness. If it were black here, he couldn't imagine how it was out on the ocean. He hoped his parents would be safe.

He glanced at the cell in his hands. Ruby's number flashed "out of service." He knew contacting her had been a long shot, but he thought -- maybe hoped -- that since he'd seen Castiel, he would be able to find her as well.

He would have to manage with the little information that he had.

"Magic mirrors, angels, the end of the world." Dean shook his head. "I'm going insane."

"We…" Sam thought to what Dean had told him about his role in saving the world. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. "I was supposed to stop this," he told Dean.

"The end of the world? How the hell is any one person supposed to do that?" Dean changed lanes; the hissing of rain whistled by them. "Isn't that an angel kinda job?"

Sam didn't answer.

Through the blinding rain, he felt the darkness rising both outside and within himself. Once he found the demon that had started this, he wouldn't just send him back to Hell, he'd kill him. Lilith would be next. No matter what.

Traffic was surprisingly light; not a soul headed toward the Cape. Visibility was near non-existent, but he and Dean managed to drive through the blackness, watching the exits whittling down to their final destination. He tried not to think of all the destruction happening across the world and focused solely on finding the mirror. But even Sam couldn't ignore the muffled screams and shouts that bled through the windows, the broken down cars in the lanes stretched away from the coast, or the gushing roar that circled overhead.

Sam sucked in a deep breath. The exit loomed ahead.

He knew that once they took the exit, there was no going back. As soon as they hit the wharf, they would need to move fast. The demons must know their plan by now, and the apocalypse was well under way. There were no second chances on this run. None.

"Look, Sam. I gotta tell you somethin' before we go in." Dean's face was masked by the dark shadows, yet there was a warm light in his eyes.

The car bounced over the grooves in the road, its racketed wheels spinning as Dean steered it down the ramp to head to the wharf. Sam waited for him to speak, feeling something important in the silence between them. The docks came into view.

"We did kill Yellow Eyes," Dean said, never taking his eyes off the road. "Dad used the last bullet in the Colt and nailed him."

The words were a relief to Sam. His family had peace here. His family had been able to live without that cloud always hanging over their heads.

"But he said something," Dean continued. "Yellow Eyes said something I'd never been able to shake."

Sam felt his breath hitch. "What did he say?"

"He told me one day you were gonna snap. He said it was going to be dark and horrible and there was no runnin' from it." Dean swallowed hard. The car careened toward the fringe of the docks. "That was right before Dad shot him in the head. Even Dad told me once that you might go funny, you know after all the visions and stuff. I never believed him." He glanced at Sam. "That never happened, right?"

Sam clenched his jaw. His own insecurities and doubts bubbled to the surface. All the questions he'd had since he had started training with Ruby, since he'd started taking the blood -- they all crashed around his mind, like the red blood waves that ate away the piers to their right.

He was doing it for the greater good. He was doing it to save people.

Sam swallowed down the doubts and sat straighter. "You don't really believe that, do you?" he asked.

"I thought maybe. Once. But you went all lawyer and that was that." He shrugged. "And I see you, a hunter, and you turned out all right."

His implicit trust burned Sam to his core. He never wanted to lose that, even if this Dean wasn't his brother. He never wanted his true brother, wherever he was, to see that deeply into him. He never wanted to lose that bond that seemed to be slipping from him every day.

"No," he said. "It never happened."

Dean breathed out. The reassurance seemed to take years off his face. He drove the Oldsmobile through the deserted streets of New Bedford, the dead end wharf just ahead.

Sam felt the anticipation in the air; it threaded around him like a net, holding him in place. He tried to stretch beyond it, but it pulled him back, suffocating him. Through the web, he saw the warehouses cut through the dense fog, their tops disappearing into the stormy sky.

His heart pounded harder and harder as Dean pulled the car into park off the side of the street.

"Which one?" Dean asked.

Sam saw a glimmer. Castiel stood in front of a building obscured by the fog. He raised his hand and beckoned to them before he vanished into the mist.

"That one." Sam said. He checked to see if Dean had seen Castiel, but he made no sign of understanding.

Sam wasn't going to waste any more time with details. He took a deep breath and seized the handle of the door. Time for them to move.

"Wait." Dean grabbed Sam's arm. "What if you're wrong?" he asked. "What if all this talk about alternate realities is a bunch of crap? We go to this mirror and nothing happens?"

The thought had crossed Sam's mind. Maybe he and Dean hadn't latched onto the other scenarios so fiercely because they were scared of what other answers might be waiting for them. Sam knew there was a chance he'd never get his old life back, or that time might have been changed beyond the angels' control. He might not be able to undo the damage that had been done. This might be their end.

"We'll just have to cross that bridge when we get there," Sam said quietly. He stilled, frowning when he saw Dean digging into his wallet. He watched in silence as Dean withdrew a small picture and handed it to him. "What's this?"

"Picture of my family. I was going to give one to…Sam, but we ain't exactly close."

Sam took the photo and studied it the best he could through the darkness. The picture included the four Winchesters: Dean and Charlotte were seated in front of a backdrop with their son and daughter seated on their laps. Timothy grinned at the camera, easygoing and free, though Rebecca looked like she'd just sucked on a lemon. Despite the sour face, Dean and Charlotte smiled, both genuinely happy. Out of all his life, all the time he could remember, he had never seen that kind of smile on Dean's face shine as brightly as it did in this picture. The closest he could remember were the times when Dean had been reunited with his Dad, or with himself.

"I can't take this," Sam said.

"Nah, take it." Dean offered no other explanation.

Sam held it close before he drove it deep into his pocket, securing it with his money clip. "You should give him one anyway. I'm sure he wants it, deep down, even if he's too proud to say so."

Dean nodded, but the light never reached his eyes. Not this time. That was when Sam saw it: the fear, the dread of the unknown. Dean believed he would never see his brother or family again. This was his way of tying up loose ends.

Sam wouldn't stand for it. "No," Sam told him. "You're not going to die tonight, Dean. We're going to be okay."

Dean averted his gaze. Instead, he stared out into the swirling sky.

"I'll make sure of it," he told Dean. "I'll make sure you see your family again. I promise."

Dean gave a slow nod and met his gaze. Sam made sure his promise blazed in his eyes, letting Dean know that even if he wasn't his brother, he mattered just the same. He saw it in Dean's eyes as well.

Sam broke the intensity and glanced at the warehouse. "This is it. You ready?"

Dean shook his head.

Sam nodded. "Me either." He took a deep breath. There was no going back now. "Let's go."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Sam and Dean jumped out of the car and ran to the trunk. Around them, the wind howled like a dying beast, its agonizing screams piercing the sky, their minds, their very souls, in sharp waves. Sam shivered as he withdrew a shotgun, holy water, and salt. Dean did the same, though considerably slower. Sam frowned when he noticed Dean pull out a small water pistol.

"My kid's," he explained.

He dumped as much holy water as he could inside the little tank. Sam raised his eyebrows, impressed at the action, and wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.

Dean grabbed a shotgun and his side arm, along with some salt. When they were finished, Sam slammed the trunk.

He felt a prickle on his neck.

There was an electric charge to the air. It permeated everything, from the tops of the buildings to the trees, down to the top of his head to the soles of his feet. The static built to a suffocating pressure that squeezed so hard that he could barely breathe. He gasped for air, as did Dean, before it finally burst with a loud bang.

Sam and Dean looked up.

The sky had cracked, much like the road a few towns back, a large crevasse splitting the air in two. Inside, there was a dark glow, blood red, and it throbbed toward the opening.

Sam didn't think they wanted to stick around to see this.

"Go!" he shouted.

The two of them broke into a run. The warehouse loomed ahead. Sam charged down the street towards the final intersection before the docks. He heard Dean huffing and puffing behind him.

The sky exploded.

Sam heard Dean call out as a fireball the size of a car sailed through the air and struck a house somewhere behind them. There were screams to their left and screams to their right. People fled the burning buildings while others, mad with fear, ran into the streets, their faces and arms covered with pulsating sores and blisters.

"Help me!" one screamed. "Have mercy!"

Behind him, he heard Dean's footfalls start to slow. When he glanced back, he saw Dean turning towards the people. They didn't have time. He reached back and grabbed Dean, pulling him forward.

"Later," he told him.

Fire rained all around them. The heat became so intense it melted away some of the blackness, baking the pavement to the point Sam felt the soles of his loafers were melting.

He pressed on despite the pain.

Whispers floated through the air like feathers, dancing and dancing around them until they built into a cacophony of shrill laughter.

Dark murmurs cascaded over them. A shot. A crash.

A man stood before him, his eyes as black as the cloud that covered the city. He heard Dean's breath hitch.

"Ah, Sammy. Bringer of the Apocalypse. What would your friends say now?"

Sam could take him. Sam could destroy this demon right now. Should he risk it with Dean standing right behind him?

"I watched your brother die." He flashed a toothy grin. "I watched him beg for mercy. Then I ripped out his heart and…" His chin was bloody.

Sam reached out his hand to strike him. The demon recoiled with pain, though not from anything Sam had done. He frowned, just for a second, before he realized the demon's skin was smoking.

Dean sent another stream of holy water in his eyes.

Sam took the opportunity to act. He took his salt, and between the claps of thunder-fire around them, he doused the demon with it.

He jerked and convulsed, the holy water and salt burning and boiling his skin.

Sam grabbed Dean's arm and steered him away. The demon would rebound any minute, and they needed to be as far from it as possible.

"Is that the demon you were fighting?" Dean asked breathlessly as they started to run again.

"I think so."

"It followed you?"

"Apparently."

If the demon had followed him into this mirror world, he wondered if it had come alone. He knew that was unlikely, and started to fear just how many of its friends it had brought along for the ride.

Sam broke through the intersection. The wind sheared the warehouse ahead, and he darted to the right to avoid a chunk of falling rock.

The water on the edge of the dock, red and hot, ate away at the wood frame.

Then it started to rain again. A hot, searing rain.

"God, is that blood?" he heard Dean's frightened voice call behind him.

Sam didn't answer. The blood-rain pelted his skin. Each drop was like acid. He tried not to concentrate on the pinpricks of pain that dotted his body. He needed to make it to the mirror.

The wind surged, the rain came down like knives. Sam heard a new battlement of screams, cars flying, buildings crumbling, and then nothing but bitter silence of death. The howling wind started anew.

The door. He saw the door. Sam sprinted head, slamming onto the surface of the metal door. He fumbled for the handle and jerked it open. He hammered down a set of steps, blocking out the roar of the hurricane-force winds behind him.

Dean, breathless and heaving, stumbled into the building. He reached back to close the door and nearly fell as the door was ripped from its hinges.

"Never mind!" Sam called.

Sam broke into a run through the warehouse's main floor. Packed boxes, stories high, towered over him, while other, smaller ones dotted the floor. He stopped in the middle and searched the huge inventory. There was no way he could find a packaged mirror in all of this.

Dean skidded to a halt behind him. When Sam glanced back at him, he noticed Dean was as soaked with blood as he was. His hair was plastered to his face from the hot sticky rain. He was still panting, but looked strong enough to keep going.

"Where is it?" he asked between inhaling gasps of air.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Dean gulped and wiped his forehead. "Damn it, Sam."

He scanned the boxes again. The mirror could be anywhere.

Sam breathed out. Think. Where would be the best place to store an antique mirror?

As he thought, Sam noticed a distinct rattle echo through the warehouse. It wasn't a rattle caused by the billowing wind that ravaged the non-existent doorway into the warehouse. This was an inner rumble, an angry power that surged within the warehouse itself.

Sam stiffened. The boxes started to shake.

Suddenly, one of the large boxes launched itself at the two of them. Sam pushed Dean behind one of the other boxes and held on tight, cringing as the machinery inside crushed a nearby wooden table.

Before Sam had a chance to gather himself, boxes were flying like bullets across the room. He and Dean needed to get out of here before they were flattened.

Sam's eyes brightened as he noticed a small door across the room. In front of the open stairwell stood Castiel. His intense gaze found Sam and never wavered.

Dean leaned over Sam's shoulder. "Who's the dude in the trench coat?"

Sam sighed with relief. "It's Castiel."

As Castiel's form disappeared down the stairs, Sam darted across the room, through the sailing boxes, making sure Dean was in tow. They broke into a jog after Castiel. When they hit the stairs, Sam led Dean down to the next floor of the warehouse.

Down in the basement, it was much darker. There was a heavy, musty smell to the air, and the boxes here were smaller and more compact. Carefully, Sam started to navigate through the boxes, looking for one that might be the right shape for transporting a mirror.

"Cas?" he asked. He could sure use the angel's help right now. If he could just give them more than a sign and actually engage them. "Castiel?"

No answer.

Sam started tearing through the boxes with his pocketknife. He needed to find it. The world rumbled and groaned outside. They were running out of time.

Somewhere in the distance he heard Dean. "Mirror, mirror on the wall…"

His frustration growing, Sam ripped through more and more boxes not caring as the packaging tore and mangled his hands. Nothing. Just more furniture.

He let out a frustrated sigh. The demon would be upon them at any time, if he wasn't here already. They couldn't delay anymore. He needed to find this damn mirror.

There was a flicker of light. Sam turned his head and saw Castiel standing down a long corridor.

He started down the path until he reached the end. When he reached out to touch Castiel, he fluttered into nothing.

His outrage at the angel didn't have a chance to surface. Behind him stood a long, slender package.

Sam felt his heart skip a beat. Without another thought, he ripped the box open.

The mirror. The very same mirror that had started this mess.

"Dean!"

Within seconds, Dean was by his side. The two of them stared at the mirror. Sam heard Dean mutter in disappointment.

"What?"

"I thought it would be…bigger or something," Dean mumbled.

Sam traced his fingers over the ancient words carved into the mirror's edge. He looked to the curved glass and his eyes widened.

It was him. But not him. His movements seemed more fluid, easier, as if he walked with a different kind of purpose, one Sam never had. His other self had a smoother face, fuller and bright, not saddled with the burdens that Sam carried every day. He looked out of place in the clothes he wore -- Sam's clothes -- as he searched the room. When he glanced up at the mirror, he jerked.

Their eyes met.

Immediately, the other Sam called out, though no sound came, shouting to something out of the mirror's view.

Sam turned to Dean. "Do you see it?"

Dean peered into the mirror. "I see your ugly mug."

Sam ignored him and smiled. "No, I see him. I see your brother."

That mention of his brother caused Dean to push Sam out of the way. He searched the inside of the mirror, his eyes flickering with desperation. After a moment, the disappointment took over and he slumped his shoulders.

"I don't see him."

"Maybe because I'm the one who traveled, I'm the only one that can see through the portal." Sam felt his excitement rise. "This means I was right. This means that when we reactivate the mirror, we can both go home."

Dean's face brightened with newfound hope. "Will that make all this go away?"

Sam didn't know what to say, though he knew it was unlikely. He didn't want to leave them this way. Maybe he and Dean could find something to help. Maybe Ruby knew something he didn't. Maybe at least the demons would follow him back through the mirror. He wished he knew.

Dean must have sensed his doubts.

"Hurry up, then," he muttered. "Get my brother back so we can get back to our family." Dean ran a nervous hand through his hair "God, I hope Mom and Dad are all right."

Sam didn't want to think about them. He couldn't stand for them to die all over again.

"I'll need just a small sample of blood," Sam said, hoping that his definition of small sufficed.

Dean nodded and rolled his sleeve higher. "Let's get it--"

Dean flew backwards. Sam barely had time to react as he watched his brother cruise through the air and hit the opposite wall with a hard thud.

The demon flung out his hand toward Sam, but nothing but a whoosh of air hit him. Sam smiled. "You didn't think that would actually work on me, did you?"

The demon chuckled. "It was worth a try. Besides, I'm more interested in keeping bro's bloody hands off that mirror, thanks."

Dean squirmed against the wall, struggling against the pressure that kept him in place. Sam knew that no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't going anywhere.

But he was out of the way which would make this all the easier.

Sam raised his hand and smiled at the demon. "You followed me through the mirror, but now you won't be following anyone else again."

"Too late," the demon said with a gleam in his black eyes. "The end is here. Thanks to you, I bypassed the seals quite nicely."

A quiver of doubt rippled through Sam. "Bypassed the seals?"

"Oh come, come. You didn't think all of this was the real Armageddon, did you?"

Sam kept his hand poised for the attack, but his doubts were throwing him off center. There was a new uneasiness growing inside of him, one that he knew signaled something far, far worse than what he'd been expecting.

The demon laughed. "You did! Oh, Sammy, Sammy. And here I thought Dean was the stupid one."

"Shut up!" Dean yelled from the back. "Get away from him!" He grunted as he struggled, but the demon paid him no mind.

"Opening the seals releases Lucifer," the demon told him. "You didn't think we didn't have a backup in case that didn't happen, did you?"

Sam's frown deepened. "But Lucifer."

"Missing this party. Ever stop to think not all of us want the boss man back? We like it as it is. We like our free reign. This isn't about seals, boy. This is all about fast-forwarding to the good stuff. Call it the Cliff Notes version, if you will."

Sam set his jaw. "What good does it do you to destroy another world?"

The demon laughed again. "Another world? These places…these spaces. They are connected. This is just the preview for the show about to happen back home." His eyes glistened. "Too bad you won't get to see it. Looks like you and your demon bitch Ruby messed up this time."

Ruby had known this was going to happen. She had sent him to stop it. She just hadn't told him why.

"I'm going to--"

"What? Use your powers and kill me? You're not going home without Tweedle Dumb's blood."

Dean's face buckled. "Powers?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He didn't want Dean to see this. He didn't want Dean to know this. The demon took a threatening step closer to Sam.

Dean pounded his head against the wall. "Get away from him, you sonovabitch!"

Sam jerked his hand forward and saw the demon choke. Smoke sputtered from the corners of its mouth as the host body shook in fits.

Through the corner of eye, Sam saw Dean's face turn ghostly white, the disgust, fear, and disappointment.

Sam would make it up to him. He promised he would.

The demon let out a howl as he struggled against Sam's command. Then, he did something Sam didn't expect.

He snapped his fingers.

Dean's head snapped to the side with an audible pop and his body went limp.

Sam felt his heart stop and he lowered his hand. "NO!"

With of a burst of rage, Sam curled his fingers and squeezed. The demon sputtered and cried for mercy, but it was over. He lit up in a fiery explosion. The host body, long dead, collapsed into a heap on the floor.

Sam was already at Dean's side. He scooped up his body propping him up from underneath his arms. Dean's back sunk into Sam's chest, his broken neck unable to hold the weight of his head. It flopped to the side. Sam squeezed his eyes shut unable to stare into his vacant gaze.

"Sam."

Sam didn't stir. The look of betrayal and loathing was still etched into Dean's face. The last thing he ever thought was that Sam was a freak, a monster.

The very last thing.

"Sam."

He opened his eyes to find Castiel standing over them.

Sam could barely contain his anger. He had done nothing to help Dean, just like he had been useless in their battle against Alastair.

"You coward," Sam muttered, his voice close to a snarl. "You were here, and you didn't help. You didn't help!"

An unreadable emotion flickered over Castiel's face. If he was hurt by the accusation or not, Sam could never tell.

"I had difficulty passing over the bridge between this place and your world," Castiel told him. "I am stretched as it is. We have little time."

"Fix it," Sam ordered. "Fix it now."

"You need to cut his body and use the blood to touch the mirror."

Sam stared at him. "You want me to mutilate my dead brother's body?"

"He is not your brother."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. He wasn't about to accept this. He'd promised Dean he would see his brother again. He promised him he'd be reunited with his family.

"It doesn't matter."

"It does. This world is ending. Your world is feeling the pull from this one's destruction. You must go back."

"Bring him back," Sam said, ignoring Castiel's commands. "Bring him back to life. I know you can."

"No."

"No?"

Castiel looked away.

A new kind of terror gripped Sam. "What aren't you telling me?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Make me understand."

"Your mind can't comprehend the majesty of God's wonder."

Sam gritted his teeth. "Try me."

Castiel let out a heavy sigh. "Occasionally, there are pockets that form in the universe. These pockets, alternate dimensions or realities, act like bubbles that expand from the main thread of space and time." He gave Sam a pointed look. "They aren't meant to be."

Sam clutched Dean's dead body to his chest. "I created one of these pockets."

He inclined his head. "A mix of your power and an innocent man's blood."

"Dean's not innocent."

Castiel's gaze remained intense. "You know what I mean."

Sam felt his cheeks flush with anger and shame. Outside, he heard the renewed yells and screams of people as they ran from the horrors on the streets. The boiling waters pounded the sides of the warehouse.

"There isn't much time," Castiel told him. "This pocket has become unstable. You must go back."

"Bring Dean back to life. Let him live with his family. Give these people a chance to fight."

"You don't understand."

Sam gripped Dean's body harder.

"The universe cannot sustain more than one thread of time and space. It is not the Lord's way. This pocket of time was doomed the moment you created it."

"So, you're telling me as soon as I go back, this place won't exist anymore."

Castiel gave a solemn nod. "Yes."

Die. They were all going to die. Dean's wife, his kids, his parents, his other self. They would all snap out of existence.

"These pockets act like a cancer. They inevitably collapse, but if they remain linked to the whole for too long, the universe cannot take the strain. Your world will die just as this one." Castiel stepped forward, his eyes lucid and pained. "Many pockets have formed before, but none with this intensity. They die quietly, but this one is diseased." Castiel's gaze bore into Sam, and he felt a crawling feeling in his blood. His voice had lingered on that last word in a way that made Sam sick. "You must sever the link," he said.

Sam considered Castiel's words. He was asking him to destroy a whole world to save his own. Years ago, he would have fought with all his might against something like this. He would have fought to find another way. Now, he was older and wiser. He knew much more than his ignorant self had just two years ago. But knowing didn't make it any easier.

"What about their souls?" Sam asked. "They must have souls. What happens to these people?"

"These are siphoned souls. They broke from their main souls when you created this pocket. As they die and as this world collapses, they shall return to where they belong." He cocked his head and looked at Dean's limp body. "As for those that never lived, their energy will return to Heaven."

"What about those that have died?"

"Their splintered souls will return to wherever they were before."

Sam didn't want to think he could have just damned half of a population to Hell. Suddenly, images of multiple Heavens and Hells, and other dark places populated his mind.

It was as if Castiel could see into his thoughts. "Only the earthly domain is affected." He stole a troubled glance back to the mirror before turning back to Sam. "There is only one Heaven, one Hell, and its supreme beings are unaffected. Your demon blood made it much easier for higher order demons to slip across the bridge and more difficult for my kind."

There was an apology somewhere in there. Sam knew it. But he didn't care.

"What about Dean?" he asked, uneasy that Castiel kept sneaking glances back to the mirror and down to Dean's body.

"Your brother's blood is serving as the link between worlds, powered by your demon abilities." Castiel's face grew dark. "His soul has been siphoned more than is natural for the time pockets. You must go back now."

Sam understood what Castiel meant. Swallowing down his grief, he took out his knife and sliced Dean's arm.

The blood poured onto his hands. As he scooped up the pooling blood, he silently apologized to Dean. He wouldn't be reunited with his family, and he would never have a proper burial. He eased Dean's body onto the ground with his free hand and crossed Dean's arms over his chest. He could at least give him some dignity in death.

Sam stood and straightened his back. Without another word, he marched down the corridor to the mirror opposite him.

His other self's horror stricken face glared back at him. He pounded against the mirror, his face contorted in rage. The dark countenance gave Sam a shiver. He vaguely wondered if this was the man that Dean, Bobby, and everyone else saw every day.

He kept walking, managing to keep himself both calm and collected. He stopped in front of the mirror. His other self continued to bang on the mirror, his eyes hard from his anger and grief. He had seen it all happen. The look in his eyes told Sam everything.

Sam peered beyond his other self. To his relief, he found Dean seated on one of the boxes behind him. But that relief was short-lived. He looked deathly pale, his head bowled over, as he grabbed the edges of the box for support.

It was time for this to be over.

Sam took his blood-filled hand and wiped it across the edges of the mirror, covering each angel's name. He felt a prickle underneath his touch, yet the images on the other side didn't sway, vanish, or seem affected by his moves.

He turned his head over his shoulder to seek Castiel's advice, but the angel was already gone. Sam afforded one last look at the dead body of his brother.

He had seen his brother die too many times over the past few years. He had seen enough suffering in the eyes of the people they saved every day. He would not allow this to go on.

With his outstretched hand, he focused on the mirror and allowed the chilling power to surge through him. After a moment of nothing, of emptiness, he felt suction, and he careened forward.

He fell into snowy whiteness.

* * *

It was over in an instant.

Sam was hurdled through the mirror and rolled into a set of dusty half-opened boxes on the other side of the room. He winced as an antique shotgun whacked him in the leg. He pushed the boxes off and jumped to his feet, his gaze immediately locking onto the Mirror of Solomon.

Only now, it was only his own reflection staring back.

Turning his back on the mirror, he went to Dean. Some color had returned to his white face, but he still seemed dazed, as if he would pass out at any moment.

Then Sam saw the blood soaking through his jeans where the demon had cut him. Sam ripped off a piece of his dress shirt and pressed it down on the blood soaked area.

Dean howled.

"Stay still," Sam told him. He made a face. "You shouldn't even be on your feet."

For the first time since he came back, Dean's head bobbed up. "Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

Dean eyed him suspiciously. There was a biting coldness in Dean's eyes, one more acute than when he'd left.

Sam pushed away the resulting ache at seeing the distance in Dean's eyes. "I'm back."

Dean didn't reply. The cold still chilled his face, and for a moment Sam thought he saw resentment linger in his gaze. Whatever hurt Dean felt quickly buried itself from view, leaving just physical pain and confusion. He winced. "Where's Cas?"

Sam frowned upon hearing Castiel's name. "He was here?"

"He kept bopping in and out." Dean muttered. "Talking like Rod Sterling."

Castiel claimed he'd been stretched. Sam started to wonder just how stretched he had been.

"Come on," Sam said, slinging one of Dean's arms over his shoulders. He heaved his brother's weighted body off the box. "We have to get out of here."

Dean made a non-committal grunt, but allowed Sam to guide him toward the steps. One by one, they worked up to the top floor. Dean's limp slowed them down; Sam had to keep dragging him up the stairs.

When they reached the top, Sam was surprised to find Castiel waiting for them. "I have held off the law enforcement to allow for you to leave." He glanced at the staircase. "I will take care of the mirror."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said as they passed by him.

Castiel nodded to Dean, but lingered long enough to give Sam a significant look. Sam turned away.

"What happened while I was gone?" he asked, helping Dean toward the exit.

"Long story, man. Let's just say you're not exactly a barrel of laughs."

Sam contemplated what the last few days must have been like for Dean, stuck with a very different version of himself. He couldn't even come up with a suitable scenario. He had branched so far from that life over the years that he couldn't even fathom what it must have been like to be another person, a lawyer, even if had experienced a taste of it for the past few days.

Dean's consciousness seemed to be slipping again. Sam hoisted him up and gave him a shake, willing Dean to stay focused enough to get back to the Impala. He wasn't sure how long Dean had been out on his injured leg, or how much treatment he had received in his absence. All he knew was that they both needed some rest if they were to renew their pursuit of Lilith and stop the seals from being broken.

He and Dean had a lot to talk about. But somehow, he didn't think that when they did come to talk face to face, they would accomplish much at all. That seemed the standard these days.

With a grunt, Sam pushed open the door. Ahead, the Impala was parked by the side of the road in a different spot than he remembered. He crossed the street and helped ease Dean into the passenger side seat. Once he was secure, Sam jumped into the driver's seat and took off toward the motel, content to leave the antique shop far, far behind.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Sam sat on a bench outside of their motel room. Dean rested inside, his leg elevated. Castiel told them he should heal a lot faster now that he was whole again.

He flung a pebble into the road and wondered if his soul was whole, too, or if it had ever been.

The sun was low on the sky with sunset just on the horizon. After a whole night of blackness, Sam welcomed the warmth and all that it brought with it. This time he knew once the sun set and the night sky replaced it, the terrors that accompanied the end of days would be left at bay.

At least for now.

Between periods of rest, Dean had recounted the past few days as well as he could. He admitted that he couldn't remember most of it, between being drugged in the local hospital and having a difficult recovery. The other Sam had adapted fairly well, though Dean said, perhaps a little too proudly, that he sucked at carrying a gun. They had spent most of the past two days trying to get past the police investigation at the antique shop. That was when Castiel had intervened.

The rest was history.

When Sam had asked how much the other Sam had told him about their alternate lives, Dean had just shrugged and told him they hadn't talked much about it.

"The other you loves secrets just about as much as you do," Dean had told him.

Sam hadn't really pressed it further, though when Dean had turned away from him, he suspected he knew a lot more than he was telling. Later, when Dean had asked Sam what he'd experienced, Sam promised to tell him later, even if he had no intention to do so, and assured Dean that yes, he was badass there, too.

That had been several hours ago. The adrenaline rush had since worn down, as had the relief to be back in his own element again, leaving Sam to have to face his experiences for the last few days.

Though they weren't his friends, his family, his life, he still felt their loss. Sam would give anything to know that Dean's family lived on, and Timothy and Rebecca would grow up to be fine adults. He regretted never getting to know Charlotte, what she did for a living, what she liked, and what her dreams were. Randy Pinto would never know true freedom, living his last moments on bail. He'd abandoned his bosses, his employees, and his friends in their final moments. He'd turned a blind eye to the people suffering from the plagues and tortures of a world ripped apart. And mostly, he ached for Dean, wishing he could have kept his promises.

He wished he'd kept his promises to Dean here as well. He wished to God he didn't have to be drinking the demon blood, but if it meant stopping the pain that everyone in the other world experienced, then so be it.

Sam looked down at his hands. The sun was setting now and his experiences seemed a lifetime away.

"What's with the long face?"

Dean was leaning on the doorway to take the pressure off his leg. His eyes were slightly glassy from the pain meds that Sam had given him, and despite the fact he had enough drugs pumping in him to keep his pain under control, he swung a half-empty bottle of beer in his right hand.

"Nothing," Sam said.

"That's a whole lot of nothing," Dean muttered, his voice muffled by the bottle. He took a long swig of beer and let out a satisfied sigh. "You're back and everything's normal again."

Sam hesitated, unsure of how Dean said the word normal. He almost felt that that bitter resentment he'd heard at the antique shop was back.

And then he saw the other Dean's disgusted face replay in his mind over and over again.

"Look, you did everything you could, right? Cas said that place wasn't going to last anyway."

"All those people died, you know."

"It wasn't really us." Though, Dean didn't sound too convinced. "I know what it's like to be in a different--"

"You don't know what it's like," Sam snapped. "That was different. None of that was real. These people were _real_, Dean."

"The people in my dream were real to me," Dean said defensively.

Sam wanted to convince him their situations were entirely different. But Dean wouldn't listen. He never did. He always had to paint everything with the same brush.

His other self hadn't deserved the mess he had left him. His last few seconds of life before the unwanted pocket of time collapsed would have been nothing but anguish for him.

Castiel had assured him that when the pockets of time dissipated, it was painless for those that lived in them. They would fade into non-existence and it would be over in an instant.

He tried to take comfort that in another life he had still tried to make a difference. His atypical law career spoke to that need, as did his desire to keep Jessica's memory alive by fighting evil in a different way.

No matter how he looked at the situation, he couldn't make the ache completely go away. He only knew of one thing that would make it better.

"We need to protect those seals and kill Lilith."

"What we need is a plan," Dean said. "Not running off half-cocked."

Sam turned away. He hated being saddled with such a weaker version of his brother. He wished the old Dean, the one that wasn't afraid of anything, would come back so they could finish this fight together.

He turned to Dean and asked pointedly, "Do you even care what we're facing?"

"Do you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"This is big time, Sam. We're talking Major Leagues."

"You just don't want me to use my powers."

"Damn right I don't." He shifted uncomfortably, the frustration pulsing in his eyes. "You know, I sometimes think if I hadn't become a hunter, you--"

Dean didn't finish, but the damage was done. Sam narrowed his eyes.

"That I'd come out okay? That I'd be normal? Is that what you think?"

Dean brought the bottle to his lips and looked away.

"That's what this is about?" Sam was sure it was. All his anger and resentment. All his frustration and his distance since Sam had returned.

"This is who I am, Dean. That's not going to change."

"No, it's not. You just keep telling yourself that to make it seem okay."

Sam shook his head and turned his back to Dean. He didn't know what he was talking about. He never knew what he was talking about anymore.

It was in his anger, his grief, and his own resentment the question finally came: "What if the only way to win is to sacrifice someone you love?"

Sam didn't need to see Dean's face to imagine the darkness that settled over it. "Then, it's not worth winning," he heard him say.

And that was it. Dean left him, slamming the door behind him.

He didn't come back for Sam after that. The sun set, bringing the cool chill of night. As he sat alone, more alone than ever before, he withdrew the picture the other Dean had given him.

Their bright cheerful faces looked toward a life that was no more, to a future that would never exist.

Dean could never see this. He was troubled enough as it was.

Sam took out a small matchbook and lit one of the matches. He let the fire catch the corner of the picture and said nothing as Dean and his family were lost to the flames.

He couldn't look to possibilities that had never happened. He couldn't dwell and wallow in the memories that would hold him back. If Sam wanted to do right by them, he had to take a stand even if Dean didn't have the courage to do so himself.

Sam might not be able to keep them safe, but he could fight the battle in their honor.

* * *

End Note: I want to thank you for reading the story. I wanted to write something that could show both Sam's good qualities and his flaws, especially in light of what he's done in Season 4. Though, the result is a story that is a little darker than what I normally write. I hope you enjoyed it anyway. I've appreciated your feedback. If I decide to write the companion story that shows what Dean went through all of this time, I'll be sure to upload it. Thanks again!


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